Truths Universally Acknowledged
by 12cubed
Summary: A set of missing scenes from late Season 2. Rory and Paris get an assignment from Mr. Medina. Jess/Rory subtext.
1. Chapter 1

_"The real evils indeed of Emma's situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her."_--Emma

* * *

_"Paris likes Jess."_

_"There's no explaining attraction."_

Rory chewed the end of her pencil. She'd lied to Dean. She'd _lied_ to _Dean._ Why hadn't she just told him the truth over the phone? She could have explained everything, said that Jess had come over, that he was there with her and Paris. Why hadn't she?

Rory sighed and tried to turn her attention back to what Mr. Medina was saying.

"She does her business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously well...what sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study, but what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is the unseen seat of Life and the sentient target of death--_this_ Miss Austen ignores..." can anyone tell me who said this?"

Rory tried to remember, but Paris beat her to it.

"Charlotte Brontë," said Paris. She turned to Rory and smiled triumphantly. Rory rolled her eyes and turned back to her notes.

"Excellent, Paris," said Mr. Medina. "Many people have tried to analyze and assess the value of Jane Austen's works--Mark Twain, E. M. Forster, D. H. Lawrence, Henry James, A. S. Byatt, and, as Paris points out, Charlotte Brontë, among others. If you do even a little bit of research you'll find that opinions vary greatly, from the wildly enthusiastic to the severely critical."

He walked across the room and looked at them, leaning against the windowsill.

"What isn't in question is the enormous importance of Ms. Austen to the study of literature, which is why I'm giving you this assignment today. I want you to write a paper on one or more of her books--your focus can be as narrow or as broad as you want, but I want you to give _your_ opinion. Don't worry about what anyone else thinks. I'm giving you free reign over the topic of your paper--write about anything you want. Social mannerisms, class, courtship, the choice is yours."

Rory looked over at Paris, who was already writing furiously in her notebook. She was clearly planning to write something resembling a doctoral dissertation.

"The paper should be at least ten pages," said Mr. Medina, "but I would also like you to consider writing something that could later be expanded into a term project, or a senior thesis. So make sure you choose a topic that isn't too restrictive. Okay, class dismissed!"

Rory gathered together her notes, thinking of possible subjects for her paper.

_"Hey, I've read Jane Austen."_

_"You have?"_

_"Yeah. And I think she would've liked Bukowski."_

She'd wanted to ask Jess why he thought that--it had never occurred to her to try and compare the two authors.

She shook her head, trying not to think about their conversation. It had been fun, though: a lot of fun.

And a different kind of fun from listening to music with Lane, or watching movies with her mom--it had been...challenging. Exciting. Just talking and debating with two people who loved books as much as she did.

And Paris had been different, too--no longer so angry or competitive or on the defensive. Rory felt like she could be friends, good friends, with the Paris she'd seen that night.

Maybe, if Dean hadn't called, she could have asked Jess about Bukowski and Jane Austen. No--she shouldn't think that. It was wrong to think that, it was like wishing that Dean hadn't come by.

And she was glad that he had. She would rather have spent that evening with him than with anyone else in Stars Hollow--no, anyone else in the world. There was no doubt about that. No doubt at all.

"Are you going to stand there all day?"

"Huh?" Rory came back from her thoughts to find Paris standing in front of her, hands on her hips, a frown on her face. "Oh, no. Sorry. I was just thinking."

"About the assignment?"

Paris began walking towards the door. "Finding a topic is half the battle. He said that we could cover as many books as we wanted, so clearly what he's hoping for is that we'll study them all. It's the only way to get the full scope of her writing."

"Maybe," said Rory, following her. "But it's a ten page paper, Paris. Really delving into one or two books could be better than analyzing all of them superficially."

"Ten pages is the lower limit," said Paris. "He didn't say anything about an upper limit. I wrote down everything he said, you know. You can't fool me with a trick like that. I learned that one in kindergarten."

"What? No--" Rory protested. Talking to Paris often made her feel like she needed a helmet. Or full body armor. "That's not what I--"

"Can it, Gilmore," said Paris. "Just because the word "friends" came up in our conversation last night doesn't mean that we're going to braid each other's hair and share journal entries. This paper could turn into a prize-winning senior thesis. _My_ prize-winning senior thesis. I'm going to pulverize the competition."

"Okay," said Rory, walking up to her locker. She'd learned that when it came to Paris, you had to pick your battles, and this just wasn't worth it.

"Hey!" Paris yelled, glaring at something over Rory's shoulder. "You! What do you think you're doing?"

Rory looked around to see Brad, cowering back against the lockers. "I...I...uh..." he stammered, going bright red. "I was...just...opening my...my...locker."

"No you weren't!"

Paris stepped past Rory and thrust her face forward, making Brad lean back even further.

"You were spying on us! Trying to find a topic for your paper! Well, let me tell you something, buddy. If the work you submit bears even a passing similarity to mine, I _will_ find out. And I'll make sure you live to regret it. You got that?"

"Y-Y-Yes." Brad had now turned a delicate shade of green. "I'm sorry, Paris."

He turned and fled. Paris turned back to Rory, a satisfied smile on her face. "Well, there's that problem taken care of. See you, Rory."

Rory watched Paris walk away down the hall, shaking her head. But oddly enough, she didn't feel the anger and resentment towards the other girl that she would have felt a year ago.

In fact, she almost felt like laughing. There was no one like Paris in the world--thank goodness--but life at Chilton would be much duller without her.

* * *

_Music seems scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's drawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their worth. It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both."_--Sense and Sensibility

* * *

"So you're supposed to write about Jane Austen?" Lane licked sugar frosting off her fingers. "Anything you want?"

"Yeah," said Rory. "And the problem is, I have too many things I want to write about. How am I going to choose just one topic? Every time I pick one, I feel like there's a better one I haven't thought of yet. Like a Jane Austen buffet. I'm always regretting my pancake order."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, like those pancake bars you have at a buffet where they let you order custom-made, special pancakes. And you can have anything in it that you want, and anything on it that you want. It _sounds_ like a great idea, but really it makes me even more nervous, because if I ask for banana and almond filled pancakes with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, and I get it, and I'm about to walk back to my table all happy about my pancakes, and then the person behind me orders triple chocolate chip pancakes with banana and strawberry sauce and whipped cream with extra maple syrup, I think, "Oh, man, I should totally have ordered that!" I'm telling you, those buffets are evil. They put you in a constant state of nervous tension."

"Rory, I have no idea what you're talking about. The only kinds of buffets my mother will let me go to feature a choice between non-fat tofu, low-fat tofu, and Soylent Green-esque tofu substitute. Your description of a heavenly pancake buffet is cruel and alluring."

"Oh," said Rory. "Right. Sorry."

"You're forgiven," said Lane, swallowing the rest of her cinnamon bun. She pointed at Rory's food. "Are you going to eat that?"

"You can have it," said Rory. "It's the least I can do, after torturing you like that. Where's your mom? Aren't you afraid she's going to see you?"

"Mmm." Lane licked her spoon. "I swear, even Luke's maple syrup is better than anyone else's."

She looked up. "What did you say? Oh, my mom. She's doing her monthly comprehensive Bible review. She was just getting started on Isaiah when I left: I'm safe for at least ten more minutes."

"Doesn't she read the Bible every night?"

"A quick, casual, ordinary dedicated church-goer reading, yes. This is the full-on Bible-a-Palooza, with footnotes and cross references and calls to the Jesus-Is-Your-Friend hotline."

"Wow."

"I know. I feel depressed just talking about it. Let's get back to Jane Austen. Now, I haven't read her books, but I've seen the movies."

"Which one's your favorite?"

"_Sense and Sensibility._"

"Ah," said Rory. "Ang Lee?"

"Of course," said Lane. "You can't go wrong with the man who gave us _The Ice Storm_. Also, Alan Rickman."

"Ah ha! Now I know the real reason behind your enthusiasm."

"Shut up," said Lane. "Everyone knows that all the Austen men are totally dreamy."

"I'm surprised you went for Alan. Most girls love Mr. Darcy."

"Let the unsophisticated philistines drool over Colin Firth. I prefer my dark and broody with a touch of melancholy. And his _voice_, my God. Now that's a religion I can live by."

Rory smiled. Almost involuntarily she looked over towards the counter, where Jess was taking orders. He didn't seem to be listening--in fact, he didn't even look up from his notepad.

Rory was disappointed--she thought he wouldn't have been able to resist joining in their conversation, but apparently, she'd been wrong.

She turned back to Lane, who was still rhapsodizing about _Sense and Sensibility_.

"The cinematography is amazing. And so is the music. Which one's your favorite?"

"Actually, I haven't seen all the movies, so I can't judge," said Rory. "But _Sense and Sensibility_ is definitely an excellent adaptation."

"But not your favorite book," said Lane. "Come on, Rory, I can hear it in your voice."

"Well..." Rory looked down at the table, tracing a pattern on it with her fork. "I didn't really like either of the couples. Especially not Marianne marrying Colonel Brandon at the end."

"Blasphemy!" Lane raised her eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. "You dare to criticize Alan Rickman?"

"He did a great job with the part, it's just..." Rory crinkled her nose. "It says in the book that Marianne married him without being in love with him. And then it just gives you one sentence saying that she came to love him afterwards. It's like she settled for him. It's not very satisfying."

"You'd rather she got married to the bad, wicked Willoughby and got her heart broken?" Lane thought about this for a few seconds. "You know, I can see what you mean. It's like going for the drummer. You know it's going to end badly, and the bass player is a much nicer, steadier guy. But the lure of the sexy drummer is irresistible."

"Lane!" Rory laughed. "I'm going to go pay, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

_"Not a look, or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five minutes; she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To __**good**__ reading, however, she had been long used; her uncle read well--her cousins all--Edmund very well; but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had ever met with."_--Mansfield Park

* * *

"That'll be ten-fifty."

Rory counted out the money. As she stretched out her hand to pay, she noticed the book in Jess's hand. It was _Emma_.

"Ha! I knew it!"

"Knew what? Are you going to take your change, or not?" Jess had an exasperated look on his face, but Rory was sure that he didn't really mean it.

"I _knew_ you were listening to what we were talking about. Why didn't you say anything?"

"What, Jane Austen?" Jess rolled his eyes. "Look, I didn't feel like getting into the whole movies vs. books debate, okay? Not my thing."

"We didn't have to talk about the movies," said Rory, her voice faltering. "I just thought--it was a lot of fun that night, with you and Paris."

"Yeah, until you literally pushed me out the door," said Jess.

"I'm sorry," said Rory. "I didn't mean--I just didn't want to fight with Dean, that's all."

"It's okay." Jess shrugged. "It's not like you invited me over, anyway."

"But--" Rory paused. She wasn't sure if she should say this--but it was the truth. "I'm glad you came."

Jess looked up.

"Really, I am," said Rory. "I love talking about books. And there isn't really anybody around who can--well, except maybe Paris. And even she doesn't usually talk the way she did when we were--she was different, that night. Nicer."

"Probably because she's not competing with me for a grade," said Jess, smiling. Rory smiled back in relief.

"You know, that's my favorite Austen," she said, pointing to his book.

"_Emma_?" Jess laughed outright. "A princess in a village full of weirdos who all worship her. Go figure."

"That's not true!" Rory felt herself blushing in indignation. "I'm not--this isn't--the people in this town are not weirdos!"

"Oh really." Jess crossed his arms. "I'll take Miss Bates over Taylor any day. Or even the Eltons."

Rory tried not to smile. "Okay, so maybe it's a little weird. But Miss Bates is a good person. And so is Taylor, deep down inside."

"If you say so." Jess started wiping down the counter. "So, was _Emma_ always your favorite? Not _Pride and Prejudice_?"

"How did you know that?" Rory felt astonished. "I used to like _Pride and Prejudice_ best. But I think I outgrew it."

"Too 'light and bright and sparkling'?" Jess grinned. "It has that effect."

Rory didn't know what to say. He was driving her crazy.

Most of the time she had no idea what he was thinking, what he was going to do next, or why he was doing it--realizing that he'd brought over the care package because he'd wanted to see her had been an exception.

Now they were back to him apparently reading her mind and her having no clue.

"You know," said Jess, "I would have thought that your feminist sensibilities would be offended by all the matchmaking. Doesn't it bother you that Emma has to listen to lectures from a guy called _Mr. Knightley_ who lives at _Donwell_ Abbey?"

"Well." Rory hesitated. The truth was, it had bothered her a little--and normally she would have admitted the fact.

Right now, though, she felt an urge to defend one of her favorite books unconditionally. She wanted to see how far she could push this debate.

"That's just looking at the surface of things," she said. "Emma isn't the only one who learns new things. Mr. Knightley learns from her, too. He admits that she'd seen genuine, valuable qualities in Harriet Smith that he'd missed. And..."

"And?" Jess had stopped working, and was looking straight at her.

Rory felt herself blushing, but she kept going.

"And--she teaches him how to love. How to be _in_ love. And I know that sounds awful and cheesy and you'll probably laugh at me, because it's not cool to talk about stuff like that, but not everybody knows how to love. Mr. Elton doesn't. Mrs. Elton doesn't. And Mr. Weston and Mr. John Knightly only half know it, and it's one of the most important things you can learn in life. So I don't care, go ahead, laugh at me, because I know I'm right and I'm not ashamed to say it."

She paused to catch her breath. Jess remained silent for a while, then one corner of his mouth quirked up.

"So what you're saying is that the only things women have to teach men in the book are about the sentimental, emotional stuff, while the men give lessons on moral principles and propriety? Still sounds unbalanced to me."

"It isn't," said Rory. She'd suddenly thought of something that would win her the argument, and her next words came in a rush.

"Because with the other main couple in the book, it's the reverse. Jane Fairfax teaches Frank how to behave, and become a better person, and he's the only one who can break down her reserve and make her blush. So it _is_ balanced. Or at any rate, more balanced than a _superficial_ reading makes it appear."

"Huh," said Jess. "You know, I think there's a topic for your paper right there."

"Maybe you're right," said Rory. "That could work."

"Unless there's something better that you haven't thought of yet," said Jess, in a teasing voice.

"Stop it!" Rory sighed. "Now I'm back to square one."

"Sorry."

Rory noted, however, that he didn't look in the least apologetic. She looked back at the book in his hand.

She wondered if he'd made notes in the margin. Normally, she would have been horrified if somebody had written in one of her books--it would have seemed like vandalism. But she hadn't been angry when Jess did it.

She'd read through her copy of _Howl_ a dozen times since that night, seeing things in it that she hadn't even suspected were there, hadn't known to look for. She'd felt anger, and pain, and confusion that she had never known in real life.

She wanted to know what Jess saw in _Emma._

"Can I, um..." She cleared her throat. "Could I look at your copy?"

Jess held out the book. "Sure. You want to borrow it?"

"No." Rory blurted out the answer, then immediately regretted it. Why had she refused?

There wouldn't be anything wrong in borrowing a book from Jess. It wasn't as if he was giving it to her, as a gift.

And there wouldn't be anything wrong in that, either. What was wrong about someone giving their friend a book? Absolutely nothing.

"I...um. I have my own copy at home," she said. "I just wanted to look something up right now, that's all."

She flipped through the pages, glancing at what Jess had written, but somehow her eyes just glided over the words without taking them in. She could feel him watching her.

Finally, she came to the following passage.

_"Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a smile, and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr. Knightley.--It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in her favour, as if his eyes received the truth from hers, and all that had passed of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.--He looked at her with a glow of regard."_

Next to it, Jess had scribbled, _Charlotte Brontë didn't know squat._

Rory smiled.

"What's so funny?" Jess was staring at her, looking amused.

"Nothing," she said, handing the book back. "It's just--it turns out we agree on something about Jane Austen, after all."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth, beauty, and mind, to throw herself away at nineteen; involve herself at nineteen in an engagement with a young man, who had nothing but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of attaining affluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain profession, and no connexions to secure even his farther rise in that profession; would be, indeed, a throwing away, which she grieved to think of! Anne Elliot, so young; known to so few, to be snatched off by a stranger without alliance or fortune; or rather sunk by him into a state of most wearing, anxious, youth-killing dependence! It must not be, if by any fair interference of friendship, any representations from one who had almost a mother's love, and mother's rights, it would be prevented."_--Persuasion

* * *

"Well, Lorelai." Rory heard her grandmother's voice coming from the kitchen.

Emily and her mother had gone into the other room for a private discussion, which was always a bad sign.

"Well, Mom." Lorelai's voice sounded impatient.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

"About what?"

"About the thing you know I want to ask about."

"Wouldn't it be simpler if you, I don't know, just asked me?"

"Lorelai, I simply cannot understand why you persist in this obstinate behavior when you know perfectly well why I brought you in here."

"Believe it or not, Mom, I have no idea what you're talking about. So if you could just do this thing that people do, called "talking," and tell me, it might be possible for me to get through this dinner without putting pieces of fruit on my head and doing a little dance to relieve my need to scream."

"I suppose you think that's funny."

"Mom."

"Oh all right," said Emily. "I'm referring to that boy. Luke's nephew. Have you kept Rory away from him?"

"Oh, Mom."

"Don't "Oh, Mom," me. I want to know."

"Mom, I'm dealing with it, okay?"

"This is a serious matter, Lorelai, and I cannot trust you to deal with it alone."

"Mom, Rory's a sensible kid. She knows what she's doing. I know what I'm doing. We are filled to the brim with knowledge of doing."

"I don't care how intelligent Rory is--she's a young and impressionable girl. I hope you're doing what I told you to. I want your assurance that you are, and I'm not leaving this room until I get it."

"Yes, I'm taking care of it."

"Good," said Emily. "Rory doesn't know what's best for her in this matter. She'll thank us a year from now."

Rory heard the two women walking out of the kitchen. She quickly ducked back into the living room, smoothing her skirt as she sat down.

"Hey, Grandma."

"You're looking particularly lovely tonight, Rory," said Emily, smiling. "Now, what would you like to drink?"

* * *

"Ugh." Lorelai stretched out on the couch, kicking off her shoes. "Let's never argue in front of my mother, ever again. It leads to her getting involved, and that is never a good thing. She should always be uninvolved."

"It's your fault," said Rory. "You started it, with the whole, "Who's paging you? Who is it? Is it Jess?" thing."

"But haven't I been punished enough?" Lorelai closed her eyes, massaging her temples. "If she disagrees with me, it's merely awful. If she agrees with me, it's hell. Ugh. I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Stop exaggerating," said Rory. "If it were a migraine, you'd be sensitive to the light."

"I _am_ sensitive to the light! Just looking at the ceiling lamp makes me blink."

"Everyone blinks. It's when someone doesn't blink that you start suspecting they're an alien. And call 911."

"Did I raise you to be this cruel and heartless?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Lorelai pulled out a videotape from under a cushion. "Let's see if this will cure my Emily Gilmore Blues."

"What's that? Is that from the Special Section of the videostore?"

"From behind the Rory Censorship Curtain? Of course not!"

"Mom!"

"Hey, turn and turn about is fair play, missy," Lorelai smiled. "It's _Persuasion._ I thought it would be good research for your paper."

"Mom, we're supposed to discuss the books, not the movie adaptations."

"Well, you could write about the various merits and faults of the movies."

"You just want to watch Ciaran Hinds."

"You could write about Ciaran Hinds!"

"All right, fine," said Rory, flopping down next to her mother. "It's not like I'm going to get any work done tonight, anyway."

"Oooh, goody!" Lorelai clapped her hands. "Promise me we can do funny voices while we watch."

"What else are period movies for?"

* * *

"Now that was a good movie." Lorelai leaned back, looking worried. "We actually watched a good movie. A movie that was hard to mock. This could upset the equilibrium of the universe. We need to remedy this situation. Let's watch _The Avengers_!"

"Mom." Rory yawned. "It's one o'clock in the morning."

"Exactly! The perfect time for Ralph Fiennes in a bowler hat and Uma Thurman in a skin tight PVC suit! Your sleep deprivation will transmogrify the indescribable awfulness into a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic Tilt-a-Whirl of crazy fun!"

Lorelai paused. "Transmogrify sounds wrong. Transduce? Transfix? Transmodify? Transmute? Transmutify?"

"_Mom._"

"Oh, fine. You know, that school works you too hard. What kind of a teenager goes to bed before three in the morning?"

"The kind that wants to go to Harvard."

"Good point." Lorelai picked up the Mallomar wrappers and popcorn bags strewn around the room and walked into the kitchen.

Rory lay down on the couch, hugging a cushion to her chest and trying to keep her eyes from closing. She could hear her mother calling from the other room.

"Hey, did you think it was a happy ending?"

"Mmmph?"

"The ending." Lorelai came back in, holding a fresh bag of popcorn.

Rory stared at her, wondering how her mother could possibly be this wide awake. Maybe Luke was right and she did have coffee running through her veins instead of blood.

"I can't make up my mind whether it was a happy ending or not."

"What are you talking about?" Rory sat up. "It's a Jane Austen novel. They all have happy endings."

"Yeah, but they wasted all that time, right? Ciaran Hinds and that girl."

"Captain Wentworth and Anne."

"Yeah. Them. She turned him away because her guardians told her to, and then they spent eight years of their lives being bitter and alone, and now they can never get those years back. Isn't that kind of sad?"

"I don't know," said Rory. "I mean, in the book Anne says that she thinks she made the right decision following her friend's advice to refuse him, but she also says that if _she_ had to advise a young girl, she'd tell them to just follow their heart. So I guess you can see it both ways."

"Huh," said Lorelai. "Well, if I'd been Anne I'd have told her governess friend to stick it where the sun don't shine, and run off and got married."

"I'm sure you would've." Rory smiled. She had no trouble believing that her mother would have done exactly that.

She suddenly remembered the fierce debate that Paris and Jess had had in the kitchen. Jess loved the Beat Generation poets--their energy, their anger, their refusal to conform. Paris thought they were a waste of time. But despite their differing views, they'd been so passionate about their opinions, so convinced that they were right. Just like Lorelai.

She was sure that neither of her friends would hesitate for a second if they were asked whether or not _Persuasion_ had a happy ending. So why was it so difficult for her?

"Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it wrong that I can't decide? About the book."

"What?" Lorelai looked astonished. "No, of course not. Who's been telling you that? Is it Headmaster Charleston again? Because if it is, I'm marching straight down there and--"

"No." Rory ran her fingers along the frayed edge of her blanket. "It's just...sometimes it feels like I don't...Paris always has an opinion, and she always seems so sure about it. And now, I can't even make up my mind whether or not Anne got a happy ending."

"Oh, honey," said Lorelai. "That's like saying you're a wimp because you're not the Terminator. Seriously."

Rory couldn't help it--she laughed. Lorelai hugged her.

"You are worrying over nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with seeing both sides of an issue. It's an important quality for a journalist, you know."

"I know." Rory got up. "I guess I'm just tired. I'll go to bed. Goodnight."

"You're really not going to watch _The Avengers_?"

"Goodnight, Mom!"

"Fine! But you don't know what you're missing!"

Rory went back to her room. She lay awake for a few minutes, before finally getting up and finding her copy of _Persuasion_.

She opened it to the last few chapters, reading through for something that would help to make up her mind.

She got to the part where Anne and Captain Wentworth finally reunited, and read:

_"There they exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemed to secure every thing, but which had been followed by so many, many years of division and estrangement. There they returned again into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union, than when it had been first projected; more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other's character, truth, and attachment; more equal to act, more justified in acting."_

She lay back on the bed, and turned off the light--but it was a long time before she fell asleep.

* * *

_"There was something honourable and valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of home to himself, whence resulted her brother's disposition to look down on the common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was important."_--Emma

* * *

"More coffee, please." Lorelai held out her cup, an expression of angelic innocence on her face.

"You've already had four cups," said Luke. "When you drop dead of a heart attack at the ripe old age of forty, they're going to arrest me for manslaughter."

"Come on, Luke, you know I have a superhuman tolerance for caffeine."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please-please-please-please-please? If you don't give me the coffee, I will actually sit up and beg, like a dog. Do you want me to beg?"

"Lorelai."

Lorelai jumped off her stool and held out her hands like a puppy begging for a biscuit. She then stuck out her tongue and started panting and whimpering.

"Lorelai." Rory could see that Luke was starting to snap. "Would you stop that? Everyone is staring."

"Not until you give me the coffee."

"Fine!" Luke grabbed the pot.

"Thank you," said Lorelai, smiling sweetly. She turned to Rory. "Ha! Meg Ryan was an amateur. That was way better than _When Harry Met Sally._"

"Indubitably, Nora," said Rory, smiling back.

"Oooh, look, there's Kirk," said Lorelai. "This should be good."

They turned as Kirk entered, holding a shopping basket full of books. He marched up to the counter.

"A large ham sandwich on pumpernickel bread to go, please," he said.

"One large ham on pumpernickel," said Luke, writing down the order.

"Could I have the caraway seeds removed from the bread?" asked Kirk.

Luke stared at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm allergic to caraway seeds," said Kirk.

"Can't you just have the sandwich on ordinary rye or white bread like everyone else?"

"I like the sweet and mellow flavor of pumpernickel. I just can't eat the seeds."

"If you're allergic to the seeds, you're gonna be allergic to the bread, Kirk. The essence of the seeds spreads through the bread during baking."

"I've found that the level of the allergic reaction induced by just the bread is well within the limits of what I can tolerate in exchange for the pleasure of eating pumpernickel."

Luke gripped the counter with both hands. Rory could see his face turning red--she almost expected smoke to start coming out of his ears. Finally, he spoke.

"Fine. But you'll have to pick the seeds out yourself."

"But--"

"Kirk!" Luke fixed the other man with a wild-eyed stare, and Kirk drew back.

"Okay, okay," he said. He drew out a piece of paper from his pocket. "While I'm waiting for my sandwich, I was wondering if you would be interested in becoming a member of my new lending library."

"Your what?"

"I'm starting a lending library. It's called Books on Wheels. You know, like Meals on Wheels, only with books. The subscription fee is five dollars a month. You put in a request for any books you want, and I will personally deliver them to your door."

"And where exactly do you plan to get these books?"

"From the Stars Hollow Library, of course."

"Let me get this straight," said Luke. "You're asking people to _pay_ you five dollars a month, all so they can get a book delivered to their door that they could get for free, just by walking to the local library?"

"Yes."

"I give up."

"So you're not taking out a subscription?"

"No!" Luke stuck his head into the kitchen. "Caesar, are you about done with that sandwich?"

Kirk turned to Rory and Lorelai. "What about you, Rory?"

"Thanks, Kirk, but I think I'll just stick to the library."

"Really? Because I have some Jane Austens right here--you could use them for your paper."

"Actually, I have my own copies at home."

"What's this about Jane Austen?" Rory jumped when she heard Taylor's voice behind her. He seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

"Oh, great." Luke groaned. "Taylor, either pay, order, or get out of here."

"Young man, I have as much right to participate in this conversation as anyone else," said Taylor, wagging his finger at Luke. "Now, what were you saying about Jane Austen?"

"Rory has to write a paper on her for school," said Kirk.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," said Luke. "Isn't anything private in this town?"

"Of course not," said Lorelai, grinning.

"And a good thing, too," said Taylor. "My dear fellow, just because you and your jailbird nephew lack any sense of community feeling, does not mean that the rest of us don't appreciate the values of neighborly conduct and social good-will that still exist in this town, and which I personally strive to uphold and protect."

Luke opened his mouth to protest. "Jess is not a jailbird--"

"Oh, please. It's only a matter of time," said Taylor. "Let's not waste our breath talking about that hooligan. Now, Kirk, if you would like to promote your lending library scheme, of which I fully approve, then what do you think of a Stars-Hollow-sponsored Jane Austen festival as a tasteful and appropriate setting?"

"Taylor! The last thing this town needs is another crazy shindig where we all have to dress up and sing!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Luke," said Taylor. "Why would there be singing at a Jane Austen festival?"

"Yeah, Luke," said Lorelai. "That _is_ absolutely ridiculous."

"Shut up." Luke stalked back into the kitchen.

"I do like the idea," said Kirk.

"Excellent!" Taylor rubbed his hands. "We'll bring the matter up at the next town meeting. For now, you can assume that you have the full approval of the Stars Hollow Business Association, the Stars Hollow Town Improvement Association, and the Stars Hollow Event Planning Committee. I'll talk to Miss Patty about the entertainment. Why don't you get started brainstorming ideas for games?"

* * *

_"Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework, which, at the beginning, seemed to occupy her totally; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it--and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day, were turned and fixed on Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him in short till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken."_--Mansfield Park

* * *

Rory watched Taylor and Kirk walk out of the door, talking busily. When she turned back to the counter, she saw that Jess had come downstairs.

"Kirk, your sandwich is ready!" Luke came out of the kitchen. "Oh, for crying out loud. Where did they go?"

"They're busy planning the festival," said Lorelai. "I'd better get started on my costume."

"You're not actually joining in the insanity, are you?"

"Fie, sir!" said Lorelai, fluttering her eyelashes. "I confess myself grievously disappointed by your disinclination to join these activities."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, go. Just leave me out of it."

Rory looked back at Jess, catching his eye.

"You missed all the fun," said Rory.

"Exactly the point," said Jess. "It's fun for you, not me."

"Well, at least that's something you have in common with Luke."

"He's okay, for a Stars Hollow resident."

"Oh," said Rory. She bit her lip. "You know, this is my home. And I know it's kind of weird, but it's _my_ home and I love it. So it would be nice if you didn't keep making fun of it."

"Like you said, it's your home, not mine," said Jess. He looked away. "I didn't want to move here, and I don't have to like it."

"Isn't there anything you like about Stars Hollow? Anything at all?"

Jess shrugged, but didn't reply.

Rory felt disappointed--then angry at herself for even expecting anything. What had she thought he would say? _I'm glad I moved here. I'm glad I met you._

She suddenly realized that _she_ was glad that Jess had moved here. In spite of all the trouble it was causing Luke, in spite of all the fights with Dean and her mom...she was glad he was here.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if she should tell him that. In the end, she decided not to. There was no telling how he would react.

Instead, she went back to something that she thought would be a safer topic of conversation.

"You know, I was thinking about studying her letters."

"Austen's?" Jess looked up in surprise.

"Yeah. I mean--she talks about her books, right? It's the only way of knowing for sure what she thought about them. It won't be enough material for a paper, but it might give me some ideas."

"Sounds like something worth trying," said Jess.

"So...have you read them?" Rory asked.

"Yup. Long, dull stretches, but the occasional bitching makes it worth it."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be a fan of small town gossip."

"Just as long as I don't have to live it."

"Okay," said Rory, smiling. "So I take it you're not participating in the festival."

"God, no."

"I just thought, since you're a fan of Jane Austen--"

"I'm not a fan," said Jess. "I like her books okay, I don't love them."

"Really? Why not?"

"It's what you said just now. Too much small town gossip. Three or four families in a country village. Meryton, Highbury, Mansfield...they're too small. You can't breathe. The world's a lot bigger than that."

"But even the smallest part of the world has something to say about the whole."

"It has something to say, sure, but it'll never capture everything."

Rory watched Jess as he talked. She wondered what it felt like for him, to come here after living in New York. She'd never really seen the city--certainly not the way he had.

That was part of the reason why she wanted to become an international correspondent. She wanted to travel the world, see and hear and feel things that she never could in the sleepy, charmed world of Stars Hollow.

She knew that nobody here, except maybe her mother, really understood her ambitions: they couldn't imagine any place on earth being better than their cozy little town.

She thought that Jess would know what she felt, though. Maybe she'd tell him one day. Not right now--it wasn't the kind of thing you could blurt out in Luke's diner.

Rory realized that she'd been daydreaming for the past few minutes and that Jess was watching her.

Flustered, she tried to think of something casual to say.

"So it's not the faulty grammar that's turning you off her writing?" she asked. "The prepositions at the ends of sentences?"

"Please," said Jess. "You seriously think I'd care about that kind of thing?"

Rory laughed--she had to admit, the answer to her question had been obvious.

"Okay. I thought it was worth asking. Mr. Medina goes overboard with the red pen when we do that. I guess you can get away with it if you're Jane Austen."

"You should be able to get away with it no matter who you are," said Jess. "I'm with Maugham on this one. The only point of grammar is to make your meaning as clear as possible. If abusing the English language makes it easier for the reader to understand what you're saying, there's no point sticking to the rules. Only people like Taylor would do that."

"Maugham. _The Summing Up_?" Rory's grandfather had bought her that book for Christmas one year, but it had been a while since she'd read it.

"Yeah," said Jess. "But really, _Of Human Bondage_ is the only Maugham you need to read."

"What? That is so not true."

"Yeah, it is," Jess insisted. "Most writers are better at writing what they know, but Maugham can't write anything except what he knows. And if he finds a good idea he reuses it until it's worn out. Do you know how many times he's used the line, "a woman can't forgive a man for the sacrifices he makes for her"? He's so damn pleased with himself for thinking of it, it doesn't occur to him that it's not even true. He put everything he had into _Of Human Bondage_. There's nothing in the rest of his work that you won't find in there, too."

"And yet why do I have the feeling that you've read every single one of his books?"

"Well, maybe I have," said Jess. "Doesn't mean I didn't think it was a waste of time afterwards."

"I don't think it was a waste of time," said Rory. "And I'd have thought you of all people would pick _The Moon and Sixpence_, not _Of Human Bondage._"

"Why?" For the first time, the flippant tone was missing from Jess's voice: he seemed genuinely curious.

"Because--" Rory had just said what she thought, instinctively, without thinking about it; now she tried to analyze why the idea had popped into her head.

"Because _The Moon and Sixpence_ is about somebody who gives up an ordinary, safe, boring life for an adventure. And _Of Human Bondage_ is about somebody who gives up a dream for an ordinary life because he thinks it's just as good, in its own way."

She looked down at her hands, feeling her cheeks getting hot.

"And...I thought you'd be more sympathetic to the dreamer. I mean, I'm not saying you'd act like Charles Strickland, because he wasn't a very nice person, and you're--that is, I just think you wouldn't really end up like Philip Carey, settling down in a quiet fishing village with a regular day job. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just don't think it's you. Strickland went to Paris and sailed to Haiti and...he was a poet, in his own way. He loved art. Philip did, too, but it wasn't in his blood like it was in Strickland's. And...it would be nice if you could say something, instead of letting me babble on like this."

"You weren't exactly letting me get a word in edgewise, there."

"Oh," said Rory. "Right, yes. The pause does help in the whole, "conversation" thing."

"Sure does."

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, before Jess finally spoke again.

"There's a new collection of Austen's letters that came out recently," he said. "Edited by Deirdre Le Faye. Do you have it?"

Rory felt a little bewildered by the sudden change of subject, but she'd gotten used to that with Jess.

"No, I haven't," she said.

"You want to borrow it? I found it at the book sale."

"What?" Rory forgot her former discomfort in the annoyance of missing the book.

"I went through that book sale from top to bottom! I combed every table! I looked _under_ the tables! I left no stone unturned. I left no book unturned! How did I miss that?"

"It was in the last wave off the delivery truck," said Jess, grinning. "Sometimes you have to wait for the good stuff."

"Oh," said Rory. "I usually stay until the end, but I had to run home. I lost my bracelet, remember? And Dean saw it was gone and freaked."

"Dean was at the book fair?" Jess raised an eyebrow. "That must have been a boatload of fun. I didn't realize they sold Cliff's Notes."

"Jess!"

"Oh, sorry. I guess he was in the Children's Section."

"Stop it."

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands. "I'll go get the book."

He went upstairs, leaving Rory wondering whether she should have defended Dean more thoroughly. She'd told Jess to stop. But she couldn't help imagining what it would have been like to go to the fair with someone who really loved books, someone who wouldn't have become bored in the first ten minutes.

_Stop it,_ she thought to herself. _That's a horrible thing to think. I'm horrible for thinking it. I'm a horrible, horrible person who doesn't deserve a boyfriend as nice and sweet as Dean. What is wrong with me?_

She was relieved when Jess came back down.

"Here," he said, holding out the book.

She took it and flipped through the pages, noticing that one of them had a corner turned down. She skimmed the letter on the marked page. Jess had underlined some passages:

_"Henry and I went to the exhibition in the Spring Gardens. It is not thought a good collection, but I was very well pleased, particularly (pray tell Fanny) with a small portrait of Mrs. Bingley, excessively like her._

_I went in hopes of seeing one of her sister, but there was no Mrs. Darcy..._

_Mrs. Bingley's is exactly herself--size, shaped face, features, and sweetness; there never was a greater likeness. She is dressed in a white gown, with green ornaments, which convinces me of what I had always supposed, that green was a favourite colour with her. I dare say Mrs. D. will be in yellow..._

_We have been both to the exhibition and Sir J. Reynold's, and I am disappointed, for there was nothing like Mrs. D. at either. I can only imagine that Mr. D. prizes any picture of her too much to like it should be exposed to the public eye. I can imagine he would have that sort of feeling--that mixture of love, pride, and delicacy."_

Rory put the book down. She wondered if Jess would ever stop surprising her.

"Why is this one your favorite?" she asked, pointing at the letter. She'd given up on trying to guess--she'd just ask him straight out.

Jess didn't say anything.

"Would you stop that?" Rory felt like shaking him. "I really want to know."

"It's not a big deal, okay?" He started wiping the counter again. Rory decided not to point out that he'd cleaned it twice already.

"I just...thought it was interesting, that's all," he said. "She writes like--like her characters are real. As if they're alive, outside her head, not just people she made up. She never talks about the Bennets' favorite colors in the books, but she knows what they are."

He finally looked up again. "And she knows what happens to them, after the books end. It wasn't just a job for her, a way to make money. She really loved writing."

Rory stared at him.

Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself asking, "Jess, is that what you want to do?"

"What?"

"You know--write. Books."

"Yeah, right," said Jess. "Like that's ever gonna happen."

"You could do it, you know," said Rory. "I'm sure you could. You'd be good at it."

"Thanks for the encouragement, Cassandra, but no thanks. Look, just take the book, okay?"

"Okay." Rory stood up to leave. She hesitated, wanting to say something more, but Jess had already moved to a table to take an order.

She sighed, picked up the book, and walked out of the diner.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Highbury, the large and populous village almost amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn and shrubberies and name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses were first in consequence there. All looked up to them."_--Emma

* * *

Rory wiped her finger around the inside of the bowl and licked it clean. There were definitely advantages to working at the Inn after school, and tasting Sookie's creations was high on the list.

She watched Sookie whipping some cream into soft white clouds, while listening to Lorelai talking at top speed.

"And then, Taylor suggested a _Jane Austen festival._"

"Oooh!" Sookie clapped her hands together, spraying whipped cream all over her and Lorelai. "Oops, sorry!"

She wiped some cream off Lorelai's shoulder. "Did Luke's head finally explode?"

"Not this time, but we're getting close," said Lorelai. "We are approaching the Zero Hour, the point of no return when the frustration will one day, finally, blow off the top of Luke Danes's head, taking the baseball cap with it. And may I be there to witness that day."

"Lorelai." Michel walked in. "Lorelai, the Sandersons are complaining about their room. Their light, it blinks."

"It what?"

"It blinks," he said. "On and off, on and off."

"Like a firefly?"

"No, not like a firefly," said Michel. "It blinks in the manner of a stroboscopic light in a disco."

"It can't be that bad."

"Oh yes, it is."

"So take care of it."

"I have tried," said Michel. "I have tried everything. I have gone to their room. I have observed the blinking, which has left me with a hideous headache, and has most likely caused permanent damage to my eyes, so that I see black spots even after I have come downstairs. I have turned the light on and off, repeatedly. I have replaced the bulb. Still the blinking continues."

"I'll call the electrician," said Lorelai. "Take a complimentary bottle of champagne up to their room and tell them we'll have it fixed as soon as possible."

"I am afraid I cannot do that," said Michel. "That would require me going up to their room once more. Not only will the blinking continue to drive itself through my eyeballs and into my brain, but the Sandersons will bombard me with their lamentations and complaints. "Why is the light still blinking? Why have you not fixed it? Why? Why?""

"Fine, I'll go," said Lorelai.

"Good," said Michel. "Now I will retire to an unoccupied room and bathe my eyes in cold water before lying in the dark for several hours. Do not call me. If the Inn catches fire, send somebody to carry me out on a stretcher, and make sure that they do not clumsily jar my aching head."

"Hey, Michel," said Sookie. "What do you think of Jane Austen?"

"I could not possibly care less," said Michel. "Wait, no. Let me see if I can summon a tiny droplet of caring."

He held up his hand. "No, I cannot."

"Oh, come on," said Sookie, slapping him playfully on the arm. "Where's your sense of romance? Even if you haven't read the books, you must have seen the miniseries. Colin Firth diving into a lake and coming out soaking wet? Oooh."

Michel looked down at her in horror, brushing specks of whipped cream off his jacket.

"I am not familiar with this mini-series of which you speak," he said. "But there is nothing romantic about a man diving into a lake."

"You haven't seen this man."

"A lake is not romantic, it is disgusting," said Michel. "Many insects live above and within it. Animals congregate on and around it, excreting their waste products into the water. This man, he would regret diving into the algae-filled ooze. His eyes and ears would most likely be infested with aquatic parasites."

"You're hopeless," said Sookie. "You should at least watch Colin Firth first before saying that."

"Colin Firth?" Rory turned to see Jackson, who had come in through the back door. He was holding a crate full of kumquats and looked extremely angry.

"You have a crush on Colin Firth?"

"Every woman alive has a crush on Colin Firth, Jackson," said Lorelai. "It's a universal law."

"I wasn't talking to you, Lorelai, I was talking to my fiancée!" Jackson was getting redder and redder.

"Jackson, sweetie," said Sookie. "You have crushes on celebrities, too."

"Not after we got engaged! Is he on your List?"

"What? What list?"

"The List!" Jackson gestured wildly with one arm, causing several kumquats to fall out of the crate and roll across the floor. "_The_ List! The List of celebrities you're allowed to sleep with!"

Sookie laughed. "Jackson, I don't have a list."

"Everyone has a List! You want mine? Oh, wait, that's right! I gave it up when I got engaged! Unlike you, apparently!"

"Jackson, I don't have a list!"

"Let me just ask you this. Does Colin Firth know how to cross a Meyer lemon with a Key lime? Well? Does he?"

Rory smiled, and reached for a cupcake. It was just another uneventful day at the Independence Inn.

* * *

_"Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a great opposition of character.--Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied...Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offence._--Pride and Prejudice

* * *

"Hey, Paris."

"What?" Paris whirled around, glaring at Rory. "Don't think you're going to get anything out of me using the sympathy routine."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Rory. She sat down at her desk.

"You want to know how I'm doing on my paper, don't you? You think that by appearing concerned about my welfare, I'll just open up and tell you everything. Nice touch, not mentioning Jane Austen at all."

"So you think that because I didn't bring up the subject of the paper, I'm talking about the paper?"

"Exactly."

Rory sighed. "Paris, whether you believe it or not, I don't need to know how you're doing on the assignment. Though, to be honest, it would be nice if we could sometimes talk to each other about our schoolwork, because even though we don't always get along I think you're really smart and I like hearing what you have to say. And I was just saying hi. You know, in the friendly way that people do."

"Oh," said Paris. She still looked suspicious. "Really?"

"Really."

"Well then," she said. "Hi."

She thought for a minute, before continuing, "How are you today, Rory?"

Rory fought back her giggles. "I'm fine, thank you, Paris."

"I'm glad to hear that." Paris stopped, then looked uncertainly at the other girl. "How was that?"

"Excellent," said Rory. "A+ for social interaction."

"Good," said Paris, looking relieved. She turned away, then said quietly, "You think I'm really smart?"

"Of course I do," said Rory. "You're one of the brightest people in the whole school. I was really intimidated when I first met you."

"Well," said Paris, "I _am_ more intelligent than virtually all of the idiots in this institution, but that's not saying much."

She gestured to Madeleine and Louise, who had just walked in.

"I don't know," said Madeleine. "How are you supposed to choose your own title for a paper? It's, like, totally unfair."

"Oh, I like it," said Louise. "There are tons of things to write about. Like the clothes they wore back then, are, like, full of possibilities. Did you know they had muslin gowns? And there were, like, a gazillion different ways of doing hair."

Paris turned back to Rory. "You see what I mean?" she said. "The sad thing is, the use of signals such as hairdressing and clothing in the courtship ritual would actually make a decent subject for a paper. Look at the way Fanny Price gets launched into society once she gets a maid to do her hair and puts on a sprigged muslin."

"I'm having trouble choosing a topic," said Rory. "I still haven't found anything that feels perfect."

Paris sighed. "Well, since you're admitting to weakness, I might as well, too. We are...friends, after all."  
She pronounced the word as if it were in a foreign language.

"You haven't chosen anything either?"

"Nope." Paris drummed her fingers on the desk. "I even thought about doing a comparison between Austen and Bukowski."

"Really?" Rory felt herself breaking into a huge grin. "So I guess Jess made an impression on you."

"Don't go overboard," said Paris. "Most of his views were crude and undeveloped. But I've got to admit, he at least has the capacity for original thought, which is more than you can say for most people in this place--or anywhere, for that matter."

"So, why don't you write it? The Bukowski thing, I mean."

"I would," Paris admitted, "If I had any idea what that delivery boy was talking about. But I don't."

"He has a name, he's not just "that delivery boy," said Rory indignantly. "And even if he were, that's no reason to look down on him. He's smarter than most anyone at Chilton, and if you can't see that just because he doesn't wear a uniform and has to work after school instead of riding around in expensive cars and being served by butlers, then you're no better than people like Madeleine and Louise."

"Whoa," said Paris. "I'm...sorry. I, um. I didn't mean to insult your friend."

She paused, and looked at Rory. "Was that an acceptable apology? I'm not used to those, either."

"Yeah, it was good," said Rory, a small smile tugging at her lips. "And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have gotten so mad. I mean...it's just...he works at Luke's diner because he's Luke's nephew. And he doesn't usually make deliveries. And even if he did, that wouldn't matter, because that's not the kind of thing that matters when you judge people. But I know you didn't mean it that way. I overreacted."

She tried not to blush, and failed. She hoped that Paris hadn't noticed.

"I thought I'd seen him somewhere before," said Paris. "So he lives up there in that hotbed of sin and debauchery?"

"Luke's diner is not a hotbed of sin and debauchery," said Rory. "You just wanted it to be so you could find a human interest story for _The Franklin._"

"Anyway, the Bukowski idea is not working," said Paris. "I need to find something else."

"Do you maybe want to get together and talk about it?" Rory couldn't believe the words that had come out of her mouth. Was she actually asking Paris to spend time with her outside class?

"What, you mean, just the two of us?"

"Well..." Rory paused. "Yeah, if you wanted. Or we could invite Jess, too."

"Hmm."

"I mean, I had fun that night. You know, when we were all talking together. And I thought you were having fun, too. And we could get food from Luke's again. Or not--whichever you want. And then maybe we'd come up with some ideas, or even if we didn't, it would be nice. At least, I think it would be nice. As part of the whole, "getting to be friends," thing."

Paris looked surprised, but Rory thought she might be pleased--or at least, she wasn't displeased.

"Okay," she said. "Why not. Call Tom Wolfe Junior and set up the Literary Round Table."

* * *

_"I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than mind. -- I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding; but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man--and I confess that I do consider his attaching himself to her, with some surprise."_--Persuasion

* * *

"And then, my mom took the alarm clock to Luke's, and hid it behind the counter when he wasn't looking."

Dean grinned. "Let me guess, she set it to the cows?"

"Well, she was going to go for that initially, but then she discovered that it could also make duck sounds."

"Ah."

"So, anyway, she timed it to go off right during the morning rush."

"How's Luke doing?"

"He still jumps at sudden noises, but he should be okay after a few more tranquilizers."

"Poor guy. I guess that's what you get for befriending a Gilmore."

"I guess so." Rory smiled.

Dean put his arm around her shoulders. "This is nice," he said.

"Yeah, it is." Rory leaned into his touch, enjoying the moment.

She was relieved that she'd managed to get through their conversation without making any mistakes. It seemed like a long time since she'd been able to act naturally around Dean--she always felt like she was watching her step, and she worried that she would run out of things to say.

But right now, things seemed to have gone back to normal.

Rory looked out at the park, enjoying the sight of Stars Hollow on a Saturday afternoon. Some kids were taking turns on the swings, and there were several couples sitting on the grass or on benches, talking. Just like her and Dean.

She didn't care what Jess said: Stars Hollow was the nicest place in the world. She didn't want to be anywhere else. If three or four families in a country village was good enough for Jane Austen, it was good enough for her.

Looking around at the town, she noticed that almost everything in it was pastel-colored. Luke's diner, Taylor's store, the gazebo...even the children wore pink and pale blue and yellow outfits that matched the flowerbeds.

_I wonder why I never realized that before,_ she thought. _It's nice and harmonized. No discord. No clashes. No black or red or neon green._

It was peaceful. Calm. Safe.

Rory shifted in her seat, feeling suddenly restless. Her right foot had gone to sleep, and it tingled unpleasantly when she moved.

"What are you thinking about?"

Rory was startled. She turned to see Dean looking at her curiously. "Oh," she said. "Nothing. Just school."

"You have way too much homework," said Dean. "We never have time to hang out anymore."

"That's not true," said Rory. She started checking off their recent dates on her fingers. "I spent all day with you last Sunday. And I called you last night, and we talked for at least twenty-five minutes. And we're talking now."

"I guess," said Dean. "I'm sorry--I just...I want to see more of you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," said Rory. It wasn't exactly a lie. It was true that he wanted to see more of her. It was perfectly possible to interpret her reply in that way.

"Listen, Dean--"

"Yeah?"

Rory looked up at him, wondering what she should say. She wanted to tell him the truth--that Paris was coming over to talk to her and Jess about the Austen paper.

But why should she have to tell Dean? She didn't tell him about every time she talked to Lane, or every time she met Paris at school. It was perfectly fine for her to meet friends without giving her boyfriend every little detail.

She wasn't obligated to tell him.

But she knew that she should.

"Well, I...um. That is, there's this paper that--"

The words stuck in Rory's mouth. She finally said, "What do you think of Jane Austen?"

"Jane Austen?" Dean sounded astonished. "Is that what this is about?"

"I have to write a paper for school."

"Oh." Rory noticed that Dean seemed relieved. "So you're just worrying about schoolwork."

"Yeah." Well, that wasn't a lie, either--she _was_ worried about the assignment.

"I'm not really sure if I can give you advice, Rory. You're kind of out of my league."

"That's not true," said Rory.

She wondered if she'd sounded sincere. No, she wasn't wondering, because she _was_ sincere. Why wouldn't she be sincere?

"I'd love to know what you think."

"Okay," said Dean, sounding doubtful. "Well, I read the book you lent me, and I kind of liked it."

"_Pride and Prejudice_?"

"Yeah."

"What about the others?"

Dean shrugged. "I haven't read any of the others--they weren't assigned in school."

"Right," said Rory. She tried to think of something else to say. "But--why did you like it? Which characters did you like? Did you agree with anything? Disagree with anything? Do you like it better now than you did then, or not as much?"

"I dunno," said Dean, looking nervous. "I mean, I'm sure whatever you think about the book is right."

"But there's not necessarily one right way to look at it," said Rory.

How could she make him understand? She wanted to know his opinions--she wanted to know what he'd felt, whether he'd gotten angry at Mrs. Bennet and laughed at Mr. Collins and known the same delicious rush of joy she'd experienced when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had finally gotten together.

"Look," said Dean. "To be honest, Rory, I don't remember the book all that well--I mean, it was a long time ago when I read it. Don't worry about the paper. I'm sure you'll do fine, you always do."

"Yeah," said Rory. "I'm sure it'll be fine."


	4. Chapter 4

"So we're back here in the diner." Paris sat down at the counter, observing the other customers. "No sudden increase in crime rates lately?"

"Paris," said Rory, "I've told you a hundred times, this isn't that kind of diner."

"If you want a story for your school paper, you should go to one of the wacko town meetings," said Jess. "It's the Red Queen's courtroom crossed with _The Crucible._"

"I'll make a note of that," said Paris. "Now, why don't we dispense with the small talk and get down to business?"

"What _is_ the business?" Jess walked into the kitchen with a pile of dirty plates. "I don't even know why you're here."

"Didn't Rory tell you?" Paris reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of notebooks. "We're brainstorming for our Jane Austen paper. You were invited."

"Huh." Jess came back to the counter.

"Don't get the wrong idea," said Paris. "I'm perfectly capable of completing this assignment on my own, and I'm certainly not looking for help, least of all from a guy who thinks _The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test_ is a literary classic."

"Yeah, so I figured."

"But Rory suggested it as part of this whole "being friends" initiative that she has planned, and since I'm not exactly familiar with how that works, I agreed."

Paris started arranging her notebooks on the counter.

"And besides," she said, "Despite leaving me with a sugar-carb hangover that's still giving me hives, that was a decent way to spend an evening. Better than staying at home with my nanny and re-reading _Bleak House_ for the ninth time."

"My, what exciting lives we lead," said Jess. "But no thanks."

"What?" Rory was astonished. She'd thought that Jess would be pleased--he'd seemed to like Paris. And even if he didn't, he never passed up a chance to talk about books.

"There's no point in sitting here and talking if it's all so you can get an 'A' on your assignment."

"A," said Paris. "I'm not settling for anything less."

"Fine, whatever," said Jess. "I'm just saying, I could care less about your grades. And if that's the only reason we're talking, then I've got better things to do."

"Just because you find it necessary to cultivate a Holden Caulfield persona doesn't mean that I need to join in," said Paris.

"I know," said Jess, "I'm not stopping you from going home and diagramming every sentence so it'll get you that perfect grade. I'm just not interested. Oh, and Rory's already gone for the _Catcher in the Rye_ reference. You're about four weeks too late. Try _The Chocolate War_ instead."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to get good grades."

"Sure there isn't," said Jess. "As long as you know why you want to."

"I know why," said Paris. "To get into Harvard."

"Oh geez, another Harvard-obsessed Chiltonian," said Jess. "Do you pledge allegiance to the Harvard crest every morning instead of the stars and stripes?"

"Harvard is the finest academic institution in the country," said Paris. "I have to go there. Ten generations of my family have gone there."

"_Wow_," said Jess, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's a _really_ great reason to choose a college."

He got out a stack of receipts and started sorting them into piles.

"I'm just saying, you should know why you want what you want. Otherwise you'll end up like Maria Bertram. "I cannot get out, as the starling said."

Paris spluttered with indignation.

"The fact that you just compared Harvard to Mr. Rushworth shows exactly how worthless your opinion is. And I don't need to be taking advice from a juvenile delinquent who'll probably end up working in a diner for the rest of his life."

"Paris!" Rory put a hand on her arm. "Jess, she didn't mean it. She just exaggerates when she gets mad."

She looked at him, wondering if he was angry--but he didn't seem to be upset. In fact, he looked amused.

"You're right," he said. "You're probably going to go to Harvard, and graduate with honors, and crush everybody there under your feet and end up in the White House, and god help us all when you finally establish your totalitarian state."

"I'm a Democrat," said Paris.

"If you say so. Not that I really see a contradiction there," said Jess. "Like you said, you don't have to listen to me."

He stopped working and looked at Paris, his head tilted to one side. "And yet you're still here."

Paris turned back to her notes, shuffling the neatly organized stacks together before beginning to sort them again.

"Well," she said. "I'm not saying that it's a complete waste of time. I already admitted that it was a decent way to spend an evening."

Rory suddenly realized that neither of her friends was really angry at the other. In fact, they were _enjoying_ this.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She usually hated fights: she did everything she could to avoid them.

But there was something in Paris and Jess that didn't shrink away from confrontation: they ran towards it headfirst. And she kind of liked that.

"So," she said. "Are we going to do this, or not?"

"Sure," said Jess. "Just as long as you don't mention grades, or assignments, or anything related to school."

"All right," said Paris. "Some unrestricted debate might be the best thing for me right now anyway."

"So what you're saying is that your spontaneity is carefully planned."

"Jess," said Rory.

"You do know we don't have a moderator, right? Do you want a gavel?"

"_Jess_."

"A buzzer? A whistle? A sceptre?"

"Jess!"

"Just making an observation."

"It's fine, Rory," said Paris. "Believe me, he won't be laughing when I'm done with him."

"Great!" Rory gathered up her books. "Um...do you think we could maybe go upstairs?"

"Why?" Paris sat down at the counter. "I've already laid out all my stuff here."

"I know," said Rory, feeling herself starting to go red. "But that counter...it's...um...sticky! It's covered with layers of grease and maple syrup that people have spilled on it over the years, and I know for a fact that one of your notebooks is covering a set of coffee rings from the time my mom and I decided to have a coffee speed-drinking competition, and that can't be good for the paper. What if you put one of your crucial notes down on the surface, and find that all your brilliant thoughts stick to the Formica? It'll become a permanent part of Luke's diner. Which would be good for the diner, I guess, but bad for you. Imagine all the trouble you'd have coming back here to read your notes off the counter."

Paris was staring at her as if she'd gone insane.

"Rory." Jess's voice had suddenly gone quiet. "If you're afraid that Dean will walk by and see us, you can just say so."

"No, that's not it!" Rory protested. "I mean, okay, now that you mention it, maybe that would be bad, but I mean, just--think of the other customers. What if Kirk wants to come in with his friends and sit at the counter?"

Jess just looked at her.

"Okay." Rory sighed. "I'm sorry, Jess. I don't know why I'm doing this. I'm a horrible person. I'm a horrible, horrible person. I'm a liar and--"

"No, you're not," he said. "Come on, let's go upstairs."

Paris whipped out her notebook. "Well, as long as we're going, I'm going to take notes. You never know what you might find."

"Easy, Henry Mayhew," said Jess. "There's nothing to see, unless you want me to put away my Steinbeck collection."

"_East of Eden_ grates, but he also wrote _The Grapes of Wrath_," said Paris. "I'll let it pass."

* * *

_"What think you of books?" said he, smiling._

_"Books--Oh! no.--I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."_

_"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject.--We may compare our different opinions."_--Pride and Prejudice

* * *

"How many CDs do you have?"

Paris stood in front of Jess's bookcase, staring at the shelves in disbelief.

"I mean, there can't be that many variations on angry, metal-banging, ear-drilling screechy songs sung by losers with too many body piercings and a sad lack of personal hygiene."

She picked up one of the albums. "Why does this one have a sledgehammer lying in a pool of blood on the cover?"

"Hey!" Jess grabbed the CD and replaced it on the shelf. "I don't ask you why you listen to Chopin, you don't ask me why I listen to Metallica."

"Fair enough," said Paris. "Hey, how do you know I listen to Chopin?"

"Isn't it required for the Harvard-bound?"

Rory decided that it was time to change the subject, only she wasn't sure what to say. It had been so easy the other night, when Jess had barged in uninvited.

They'd just sat down and started eating, and before they knew it they were in the middle of an argument. But now that they'd actually got together deliberately, she didn't know what to do.

"So, Paris..." She sat down at the table. "Do you have a favorite Jane Austen?"

Paris looked at her in puzzlement. "Is this how friends talk?"

Jess snorted. Rory glared at him before turning back to Paris. "It's just a question."

"Okay." Paris thought for a minute, before replying, "To be honest, I agree with Virginia Woolf that the representation of men in her novels is inadequate, though they're not walking suits like Eliot's male protagonists. So scratch _Sense and Sensibility._ Scratch _Northanger Abbey._ I like _Persuasion_, though."

"_Persuasion_? Really?" Jess looked surprised. "Didn't have you pegged as a hardcore sentimental romantic."

"Anne's got more sense than all the other Austen heroines put together."

"Elinor's pretty sensible," said Rory.

"Sensible and insufferable," said Paris. "Almost as bad as Fanny."

She turned to Rory. "Let me guess," she said. "Your favorite is _Emma_."

"How did you know that?"

"There are certain distinct and unmistakeable parallels," said Paris.

"There are not!"

"I told you so," said Jess.

"Oh please, Rory," said Paris. "Of course, it's not a perfect comparison, but at least you can aspire to Austen heroine status. I'm relegated to Mary Bennet's role."

"No way," said Jess. "You're not an Austen. You don't fit in her world."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Neither. It's a fact."

Rory smiled. "It's true," she said. "I can't exactly imagine anyone putting you on a bit of ivory, two inches wide."

"Very funny. So what am I, then?" Paris's voice held its familiar aggressive tone, but Rory noticed that she was playing nervously with the hem of her sweater. "A Brontë? An Eliot? A Dickens?"

"None of the above." Jess sat down on the campbed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "My favorite is _Mansfield Park,_ by the way."

"Typical male response," said Paris, forgetting her earlier question. "Of course you like the book where the heroine is timid and mousy and doesn't have two words to say for herself."

"Fanny does have something to say for herself, doesn't she?" Rory protested. "She decides not to act in the play."

"But it's still acting by refraining from acting," said Paris. "It's a passive form of decision making. I won't do this. I can't do that. What does she _do_ except sit around and wait for things to happen? She's got about as much backbone as a jellyfish. Besides, all her opinions are dictated by that hideously smug cousin of hers. He creates her, then she waits around moping for him to notice her, then he finally does and they get married."

She glared at Jess. "No wonder you like it."

"You're wrong," said Jess. "Not about Fanny. I actually agree with you there."

Paris raised her eyebrows.

"I know," said Jess. "We agree on something. Try not to let your eyes roll out of your head and onto the floor."

"Fine."

"_Mansfield Park_ was the only Jane Austen novel I didn't like," said Rory. "It doesn't give you that warm, golden, Jane Austen glow."

"That's why it's my favorite," said Jess. "It doesn't have a happy ending. Real life isn't like Jane Austen, where everyone lives happily ever after. In fact, life pretty much sucks. Just like _Mansfield Park._"

"But the ending doesn't suck," said Rory. "Fanny and Edward get married, and Mary and Henry get their comeuppance."

"So if you think it has a happy ending, then why the lack of glow?"

"I...I don't know."

"Come on, Rory," said Jess. "How many people do you know who could read Fanny and Edmund without wanting to gouge their own eyes out? It's like one long, endless sermon going on and on. What a yawn-fest. Like Paris said, it's mostly just her sitting around waiting for him to pay attention to her."

"It's worse than that," said Paris. "When she does venture an opinion, it's mostly because Edmund's raised her, taught her that way. He's her father figure, teacher, and eventual husband. It's practically incestuous."

"And not in the fun, Greek myth kind of way, either," said Jess.

"But they're the only two characters who think and act correctly most of the time," said Rory.

"Yes, and it's mind-numbingly boring," said Paris. "At least when Mary and Edmund fight, or when Henry and Fanny argue, you've got new thoughts, new emotions, new opinions colliding. Maybe they don't always agree, but it's a lot more enjoyable."

"Well, I agree that Edmund and Fanny aren't exactly Darcy and Elizabeth...but I still think that marrying Mary and Henry would have had a bad influence on them," said Rory.

"Exactly," said Jess. "You're screwed either way. In her other books, if you're good, then you get rewarded, but not in this one. Even if you do everything right, your so-called happy ending is a letdown, because you become a pod person."

"Well, I disagree," said Rory. "I don't think life is that awful. And I don't think that's what Jane Austen was trying to say at all."

She mulled over her thoughts, then came to a sudden realization.

"She's not saying that life always turns out _badly_," said Rory. "She's saying that there isn't always _one_ way for everyone to end up. Henry and Mary aren't irredeemable, like Wickham or Mr. Elliot--they just make mistakes. If they'd tried harder, they could have been part of the happy ending, too. Austen says so herself. And then...we'd have gotten the glowy ending, because you guys are right: the Crawfords are a lot more fun than Fanny and Edward."

"That's how it is in the other books," she said. "There's only one right way for the story to go--the best way, the one that makes the reader happiest. But in _Mansfield Park_, you really don't know what will happen. It doesn't feel safe. It makes you worry, because things aren't automatically going to turn out well. But the flip side of that is that they don't automatically turn out badly, either. The ending we got wasn't all that great, but it wasn't inevitable, either."

She looked Jess straight in the eye.

"It just means that there aren't any guarantees. It all depends on which decisions you make. Just like real life."

She sat back, holding her breath, waiting for his reaction. He looked back at her for a few seconds before his mouth twitched into the crooked smile she knew so well.

"I give up," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "You win this round."

Rory smiled back in a rush of pure, adrenaline-fueled joy. "Ha! I want that statement in writing."

"Don't count on it happening again," said Jess. "Do you guys want something to eat?"

* * *

_"My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company."_

_"You are mistaken," said he gently, "that is not good company, that is the best."_--Persuasion

* * *

"Jess, your turn." Rory sat back, licking chocolate frosting off her fingers.

"Okay," he said. "Fitzgerald or Steinbeck?"

"Fitzgerald," said Paris.

"Same here," said Rory.

"You're making me cry," said Jess. "Paris?"

"_Bleak House_ or _Great Expectations_?"

"_Bleak House_," said Rory.

"Oh, for christ's sakes--_Great Expectations_!" Jess shook his head. "I'm starting to regret this."

"Hey, you have your opinion, I have mine," said Rory. "My turn. Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams?"

"Pratchett," said Jess.

"Adams," said Paris. She picked up a fry and dipped it in salt and pepper before dousing it in hot sauce. "Pratchett is a pale imitation. No, forget that: he _aspires_ to be a pale imitation."

Jess opened his mouth, but closed it again when Paris glared at him. "Don't even think about it."

"Fine," he said. "_The Code Book_, or _Fermat's Last Theorem_?"

"_The Code Book_," said Paris and Rory simultaneously.

"Finally! Something we agree on," said Jess. "The earth just might stop spinning on its axis. Last round. Paris?"

"Hughes or Plath?"

Rory and Jess looked at each other.

"Well, come on." Paris tapped her foot impatiently. "Speak up."

"Both," said Rory.

"What?" Paris frowned. "You can't have both. That's against the rules."

"You have to have both," said Rory. "They became who they were as poets because of each other. If they'd never met, they'd have been completely different people both personally and professionally. It's not a fair question."

Paris turned to Jess, who merely shrugged.

"All right, fine," she said. "But you each forfeit a point."

"There are no points," said Jess. "It's not a competition."

"Maybe _you_ think it isn't."

"Guys, forget it. It's my turn," said Rory. "Brontë or Austen?"

"Austen," said Paris.

"Neither," said Jess.

Paris let out a sigh of frustration. "Are you _trying_ to be difficult?"

"I do my best."

"Whatever," said Paris. "So what about you, Rory?"

"I'd have to go with Austen also," she said. "I mean, I think Brontë has more scope and depth and power in her writing, but I have issues with her ideas about romance. Especially in _Jane Eyre._"

"So you don't like Jane and Rochester," said Paris.

"No, I don't," said Rory. "They make me uncomfortable. He's never honest with her, and he treats her like a...a possession. A _pet_."

"The guy's a jerk," said Jess, getting more cans of soda out of the fridge. "What kind of an idiot proposes with a psych out, anyway?"

"A what?" Paris was clearly unfamiliar with the term.

"A psych out," said Jess. He stared at Paris. "Please tell me you know what that means."

"I'll learn social skills and street slang after I get into Harvard," said Paris. "Just give me the Diner Dictionary definition."

"'Psych out' isn't street slang--oh, all right, fine," said Jess, putting down the soda and running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"It means pulling a fast one on someone. Like, "Hey, guess what, I'm going to get married to the rich and beautiful heiress. Aren't you miserable? Let me see you cry, because I'm just that big of a psychotic, abusive, manipulative, hypocritical asshole. Then...Psych! Ha ha, just kidding! I'm actually marrying you!"

Rory burst out laughing.

"That...may be the most bizarre description of that scene I've ever heard," said Paris. "But I have to admit, both apt and succinct. Certainly less teeth-grindingly irritating than the original."

"Thank you."

Paris pointed to Jess's bookshelf. "However, I find it hard to understand why someone who dislikes Edward Rochester would read Sherwood Anderson."

"He could write."

"He's a chauvinistic bastard who thinks that all beautiful women are angels before they get married, after which they turn into nagging, soul-sucking harpies who crush men's souls."

"He's a chauvinistic bastard who could write."

"Well, he doesn't write well enough for me to overlook the blatant misogyny."

"Says the person who's reading _The Kreutzer Sonata_," said Jess, looking at the book sticking out of Paris's bag. "Tolstoy doesn't exactly have a stellar track record in that department, either."

"It's for school. It's part of an outmoded male-dominated curriculum forced upon us by a repressive and patriarchal society."

"Don't you ever talk like a normal person?"

"Don't you ever get tired of providing evasive responses when you can't come up with a good counter-argument?"

"Touché."

"Besides," said Paris. "Tolstoy wasn't as bad as Anderson."

"Sonya was nearly twenty," Jess recited. "She had stopped growing prettier and promised nothing more than she was already, but that was enough."

Paris crossed her arms. "All right, fine. Point taken. I still say that someone who was writing in the twentieth century should know better than to indulge in the Madonna-Whore complex."

"As you say, point taken," said Jess.

Paris glanced at her watch, then stood up in panic. "Oh, my god! It's five o'clock already, and I've got three homework assignments to do! I have to go."

"Paris, calm down," said Rory. "You still have plenty of time."

"Don't tell me to calm down! Do you know what another A minus will do to my GPA?" Paris started gathering up her notes. She stuffed her books into her bag, and slung the strap over her shoulder.

She ran to the door, then looked back with her hand still on the doorknob. "Look, this was...it was..."

"Fun?" asked Rory.

"Yeah." Paris turned all the way around to face them. "It was fun."

She sounded surprised. "I had fun. Of the non-Harvard-directed kind."

"That's good," said Rory. "Do you want to, maybe, do it again sometime? The town's going to hold a Jane Austen festival. You should come."

"A what?"

Jess rolled his eyes. "Don't ask."

"A Jane Austen festival," said Rory. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"I'll think about it," said Paris. "It'll take me at least a week to make up the time I missed today."

"Relax," said Jess. "You'll ace all your classes without even trying."

"Okay. Well. Bye."

"Bye, Paris," said Rory.

"Kingsolver," said Jess.

"What?" Paris stopped on her way out. "What did you say?"

"Kingsolver," said Jess, twirling a pen in his hand. "You asked which author I thought you were. I'm telling you. Barbara Kingsolver."

"Oh," said Paris. She remained silent for a few seconds, before asking, almost reluctantly, "Which characters?"

Jess grinned. "Adah Price. Deanna Wolfe."

"You've read _Prodigal Summer_?" Paris looked incredulous. "Is this what you call a psych-out?"

"Yeah, I've read it--didn't like the ending, but I made it through. And no, it's not a psych out."

"Oh," said Paris again. She stood in the doorway for a minute, thinking.

Rory guessed that she was trying to figure out all the possible ways in which this could be a bad thing. Her suspicions were confirmed by Paris's next words.

"So you think I'm going to end up impregnated by a hunter and move down from the mountain into a country village called something charming and rustic, like Egg Fork."

"Nope. That was just the last couple of chapters. It's why I didn't like the ending," said Jess. "A part of Deanna's still out there in the woods, tracking coyotes and doing research on regenerative ecosystems. And Adah's gunning for the Nobel Prize for AIDS research."

"You really think I'm a Kingsolver."

Jess nodded. "They don't compromise. They fight. They go their own way. And they'll always feel out of place with average people, which kind of sucks--but that's only because average people are too stupid to get them."

Rory stared at him. His voice no longer held its usual mocking, teasing tone: he was looking straight at Paris, and he sounded--no, he _was_ completely sincere.

The only other time she'd seen him like this had been on the day of the auction. At the bridge.

_"You know, Ernest only has lovely things to say about you."_

Rory realized with a start that Jess had been...different, somehow, over the past few hours, though she couldn't exactly say how. Or why. He seemed...happier.

She could see that Paris was taken aback, too--but she also looked rather pleased.

"I can live with that," said Paris. "It's better than being a Brontë, anyway."

She looked down at the floor. "Well, I guess I'd better get going."

Rory got up. "Do you want us to come with you?"

"I can find the door just fine on my own. Just because I like Jane Austen doesn't mean that I endorse the values of her period. I'll see you around."

She turned on her heel and walked out.

Jess leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. "That was...interesting."

"She's definitely one of a kind."

"If she went to my school, I might actually show up to classes just to watch the fun," said Jess. "Has she ever immolated anyone using the force of her glare?"

"Not yet," said Rory. "But it's only a matter of time. She _has_ managed to induce projectile vomiting in one of our classmates simply by criticizing his debating technique."

"Did he survive?"

"He had to go to a sanatorium for a while, but the prognosis is good."

"That's good."

"Yeah. It's good." Rory stared down at her hands.

Somehow, the atmosphere had changed when Paris had left. While she was there, Rory had felt completely comfortable--she'd been able to laugh and talk and argue.

She hadn't had such a good time since--well, not since the last time they'd done this.

But now, she found herself with nothing to say. She suddenly felt like she had too many arms and legs. She shifted awkwardly in her chair, trying to think of something to break the silence.

"Well," said Jess, getting up. "I guess I should be getting back to work."

"Yeah," said Rory. "I should go, too."

She didn't want to leave. But she knew she couldn't stay, either.

_"I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage."_--Pride and Prejudice

Later that night, Rory sat in front of her desk, staring at the computer screen. She's finally thought of a topic.

Quickly, she leaned forward and typed:

_"Marriage as a partnership of equals: balance and reciprocity in Jane Austen's novels."_

She erased the title, and began typing again.

_"The attractions of danger and the dangers of attraction: pleasure vs. principle as portrayed by Jane Austen."_

Either of those topics would make a good paper. Actually, they would make excellent papers--first class papers that could easily become a senior thesis.

So why was she hesitating?

Rory looked at the phone next to her laptop. She should really call Dean: he'd left her ten messages that day, and she hadn't answered any of them.

She pushed away the queasy feeling in her stomach. She'd been too busy to call him, that was all. And it would be self-indulgent to talk to him before she did any work on her assignment. She'd call after she'd finished an outline.

She looked back at the screen. She wondered what Jess would think of the title. Maybe he'd like it. Or maybe he'd think it was too glib. Was it too glib?

Of course, she didn't have to wonder. She could pick up the phone and call him right now.

_No,_ she thought fiercely. _No phone calls until I've done some work. And even then, I should call Dean first._

She sighed and stared at the computer again.

On an impulse, Rory reached out and pressed the Backspace key, keeping her finger firmly pressed down until all the letters had disappeared.

She sat back, thinking, and watched the cursor on the blank screen blink steadily on and off.

She'd find another topic. She'd just have to wait until an idea came to her, that was all.


	5. Chapter 5

"I did not know before," continued Bingley immediately, "that you were a studier of character

_"I did not know before," continued Bingley immediately, "that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study."_

_"Yes; but intricate characters are the __**most**__ amusing. They have at least that advantage."_

_"The country," said Darcy, "can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society."_

_"But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever."_

* * *

"Did we bring enough Pop Tarts?" Lorelai peeked at the bag in Rory's arms.

"It should last us until the end of the meeting."

"Good. Pop Tarts, check. Popcorn, check. Lollipops, check. Today is definitely a pop-themed day. Pop goes the weasel!"

"You're not going to keep doing that the whole evening, are you?"

Lorelai's face lit up. "That is an excellent idea."

"It would drive Taylor crazy."

"Exactly."

Rory walked into the hall to find that the meeting had already begun. Taylor glared at them from the podium.

"Lorelai, you're late."

Lorelai gasped and clapped a hand to her forehead in mock horror. "Oh, my god! What have I done?"

"This is no joke, young lady. Not only are you disrupting the gathering of the entire town, you are also setting an unseemly example for your daughter."

"Did you hear that, Rory? I'm "unseemly." Lorelai grinned and slid into the chair behind Luke. "The only other person I know who talks like that is my mother."

"Maybe you should introduce her to Taylor," said Rory.

"But that would tear apart the fabric of the universe!"

"It just might." Rory stole a quick glance at the seat next to Luke's. It was empty.

It wasn't as if she'd expected Jess to be there, anyway. He hated any sort of town gathering, and when he did show up it was almost always because Luke had dragged him there. So she wasn't disappointed. You could only be disappointed if you expected something, and she hadn't expected anything, so it was logically impossible for her to be disappointed.

Rory's thoughts were interrupted when her mother leaned forward and spoke loudly in Luke's ear.

"Quack! Quack quack quack!"

Luke jumped approximately three feet into the air, and whirled around with an angry look on his face.

"Lorelai! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Just trying to recreate the glorious moment of my alarm clock practical joke."

Lorelai giggled and turned to Rory. "Did you see how high he jumped? And yet, the baseball cap remained firmly in place. Maybe it's surgically attached to his head."

"If you two are quite done with your juvenile antics, then _maybe_ we can get started," said Taylor, pounding his gavel.

"Pop goes the weasel!" said Lorelai, pumping her fist.

"What?"

"Nothing." Lorelai sat back with a demure expression on her face. "Please continue."

"Thank you, Lorelai," said Taylor. He drew out a long list from his pocket.

"This meeting will now come to order. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the main item on our agenda is the Jane Austen festival, planned by Kirk Gleason and myself, which we propose should take place next week. Kirk, would you please start distributing the notes."

Rory turned to see Kirk, who was moving between the rows of chairs. When he came to their seats, he handed her a thick, spiral-bound booklet. On the cover, it said:

_The Stars Hollow Sponsored Jane Austen Festival: Program and Manifesto_

"How long is this thing?" Luke had now received his copy and flipped to the last page. "It's two hundred and twenty-three pages! Who the hell needs two hundred and twenty-three pages to explain a festival?"

Rory leafed through her booklet. "Wow. It even has an index. And references."

"The "Manifesto" is a nice touch," said Lorelai. "Gives it a nice, Karl Marxian air."

Rory pondered this for a moment. "I never saw Taylor as a communist."

"Well, they say that the two poles meet in the middle if you go far enough."

"Ah, of course."

"People, people, please!" Taylor pounded on his gavel. "I have prepared a brief but comprehensive handout in order to ensure that the day will proceed as smoothly and efficiently as possible for all involved."

"Brief?" Luke snorted. "In what universe is two hundred and twenty-three pages considered brief?"

"In Taylorville," said Lorelai. Luke turned and glared at her. "What? You gave me the line, I had to say it."

"It's not a joke. I told you, he's buying up the entire town. We probably will be living in Taylorville within the next ten years."

"Ah, Taylorville," said Lorelai. "Where no blade of grass dares deviate from the perfect one and a half inches, where the dogs don't bark and the children don't run, where every day is the ideal seventy-two and a half degrees. Where spontaneity is dead, discord is banished, and everyone, from the crawling ants to the soaring birds to the no-longer-rowdy teenagers shall follow the unbreakable authority of The Rules. Long live Taylorville!"

Luke stared at her. "You're starting to scare me."

"People!" Taylor had now opened his own copy of the Manifesto.

"I would like to direct your attention to the Table of Contents, which should show you the organization and layout of the entire booklet. I recommend that you peruse this volume at least twice. The first, a thorough cover-to-cover review to acquaint yourself with all the necessary details. The second, a directed study using the Table of Contents, and, if necessary, the Index, to further familiarize yourself with specific areas that may be causing confusion. Now, Kirk, the model, if you please."

Kirk walked up to the stage, holding something covered with a white sheet. He placed it on the table in front of Miss Patty.

"Behold!" Taylor drew the sheet aside you with a flourish. "I give you...the Stars Hollow Jane Austen Extravaganza!"

Rory bit her lip and tried not to burst out laughing. Taylor had uncovered a perfect, miniature model of Stars Hollow as it would appear on the day of the festival. She could see a maypole, and people dressed in costume dancing on the grass. There was also a traditional string quartet to provide music.

There wasn't enough time for her to take in everything, but she could see stalls of books, a sign advertising Kirk's Books on Wheels scheme, and a needlework stand, as well as a tea tent and a lawn croquet tournament.

The hall was filled with oohs and aahs as everyone craned forward to take a better look.

"Now, now, people, please try to contain your excitement," said Taylor. "Don't feel obligated to memorize the entire layout now. This is just a mock-up of what the actual day will look like. Everything you need is in the Manifesto, including maps of where various events are located, pictures of period clothing in case you want to make costumes, descriptions of the games we will organize together with their rules (which, it goes without saying, will be strictly reinforced), and detailed timetables that will allow you to plan your day."

He extracted another list from his pocket.

"Now, there are just a couple of small matters that need to be settled before we can move forward with the official launch. The day will end with a screening of a movie, which will naturally be an adaptation of one of Ms. Austen's novels. Unfortunately, due to length considerations, the BBC adaptation of _Pride and Prejudice_ will not be available."

"Aw, darn!" said Babette. "No Colin Firth?"

"I'm sorry, honey, I tried," said Miss Patty. "Taylor, you have no soul."

"Ladies, calm yourselves," said Taylor. "The choice of the movie will be decided by a popular vote."

Taylor held up a sheaf of paper.

"At the end of this meeting, everyone who wants to vote should come up to the front of the room, and take one of these ballots, which has listed on it the names, directors, principal actors, and dates of release of the available movies. Place a clearly legible check mark next to the name of exactly _one_ of them. No more, no less. The Entertainment Committee will count the votes and announce the results on the day of the festival. In the event of a tie, I will decide which movie would be most appropriate."

"So much for a popular vote," said Luke.

"There's no such thing in Taylorville," said Lorelai. "Democracy is for wimps!"

"The final issue that needs to be settled is the food," said Taylor. "Now, Luke, I think that this would be an excellent opportunity for you to show a proper sense of town spirit."

"_What_?"

"After convening in the past week, the Stars Hollow Business Association, the Stars Hollow Town Improvement Association, and the Stars Hollow Event Planning Committee came to the unanimous conclusion that you should be in charge of providing the food and refreshments for the festival."

Luke stood up, his face turning red. "Oh, and I get no say in this at all! It's only my food and my money!"

"Young man, are you telling me that you are going to defy the united power and authority of the S.H.B.A., the S.H.T.I.A, and the S.H.E.P.C.?"

"Yes! Because, like almost everything other organization in this crazy town, all three of them have exactly one member! You!"

"Pop goes the weasel!" said Lorelai. Rory grinned and munched on another Pop Tart.

"Fine!" said Taylor. "But I'll have you know that you are depriving yourself of the opportunity to give this town a delightful and entertaining event that will be handed down for generations to come!"

"Better than you depriving me of fifty pounds of ham, five hundred eggs, and truckloads of produce!"

"Taylor," said Miss Patty. "Taylor, it is rather unfair of you to ask Luke to provide all the food. I think there's enough money in the town's entertainment fund to pay for it ourselves."

"Oh, there is," said Taylor. "I was just _trying_ to give one of the more recalcitrant members of this community a chance to redeem himself."

He turned back to Luke. "You have a lamentable lack of community feeling. Don't you want to help at all? For instance, we are going to require an enormous quantity of cucumber sandwiches. Why don't you provide the cucumbers?"

"I'm not giving you any of my cucumbers, Taylor!"

Lorelai gasped. "Dirty!"

Taylor threw up his hands. "Oh, all right. The least you could do is to supervise and manage the preparation of the food."

Luke sat back down, fuming. Rory nudged her mother. She knew there was an obvious solution to this problem, but Sookie wasn't at the meeting.

"What?" whispered Lorelai.

"You know what," said Rory.

"But this is so much fun."

"Mom."

"Okay, okay." Lorelai waved her hand in the air. "Yoo hoo! Oh, yoo hoo! Taylor!"

"What is it _now_, Lorelai?"

"Sookie would love to cater the fair. She lives for this kind of stuff. And everyone knows what a great cook she is."

"But Sookie is in charge of the catering for virtually every event in Stars Hollow."

"Exactly!" said Lorelai. "It's a tradition. And you know how important tradition is."

"Well, I suppose so," said Taylor. "You certainly make a persuasive case."

"I always do."

"All right, then," said Taylor. "It's settled. Sookie will be in charge of the food. Now, I would like to open the floor up for questions."

"I have a question." Rory turned to see who had spoken.

It was Bootsy. He stood up.

"Oh, great," said Luke. "Here we go."

"I feel that this town is practicing discrimination," said Bootsy. "Why a Jane Austen festival? What about all the other authors who have produced great works of literature?"

"Yeah," said Lorelai. "What about them, Taylor? Come to think of it, why do we have a Halloween fair? What about all the other days of the year? And why do we have a Snowman Building Competition? What about the scarecrows? Are they lesser men than the snowmen?"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," said Taylor.

"I'm just saying," said Bootsy. "What about the Brontës?"

Rory suddenly found herself thinking, _Charlotte Brontë didn't know squat._ She smiled to herself.

"What about George Eliot?" said Bootsy. "What about him?"

"George Eliot was a woman, you idiot," said Luke.

"Oh yeah?" Bootsy turned around. "How many women do you know called George?"

"That wasn't her real name! She just used it for her books! Her real name was Mary Ann Evans!"

"Fine, Mr. Smarty-pants," said Bootsy. "Okay then, Taylor, what about George Eliot? What about her?"

"If you would like to propose a Brontë or Eliot festival, Bootsy, then you must go through the appropriate channels," said Taylor.

He produced a set of forms.

"As stated in the Town Rulebook, you must first file Petition 53A: Request to Propose a Stars Hollow Sponsored Festival. You must then file Petition 32B: Request to Book One or More Public Spaces for a Town Event. Once your petitions have been approved, you must file Form 74D: Registration of a Newly Proposed Stars Hollow Festival. Then you must obtain the approval of the S.H.B.A., the S.H.T.I.A., and the S.H.E.P.C. Finally, you must make sure that the necessary permits have been signed by the Town Selectman: that is, me. Honestly, people, it's all perfectly simple!"

Taylor glared at the audience. "Are there any other questions? No? Then this meeting is adjourned. Remember to vote!"

Everyone got up and moved towards the front of the room to pick up their ballots.

Rory noticed that Luke was heading for the door. "Aren't you going to vote, Luke?"

"Nah," he said. "I'm not even going to this crazy fair, anyway. Besides, I've never watched the movies."

"Then you should place a random vote," said Lorelai. "It's always more fun that way. Ooh, or write in your own suggestion! Like _Babe_!"

"I haven't watched that, either."

"You're no fun," said Lorelai. "Nice display of literary trivia, by the way. I didn't know you were an Eliot aficionado."

"I'm not," said Luke. "I learned that from Jess, when I called her a "he," too. Don't tell Bootsy."

"Jess?" Lorelai sounded disbelieving. "You learned it from Jess. Are we talking about the same guy? Yay tall, overly moussed hair, hostile attitude?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," said Luke. "The kid spends most of his time reading, though none of it's for school, as far as I can tell. Drives me crazy."

"Didn't really see Jess as the George Eliot type, either."

"He is," said Rory.

Both her mother and Luke turned to her, and she blushed. "I mean, I don't know if he's a huge fan of hers, or anything, but I think he would be. He's read more books than I have."

"Honey, your modesty is one of the many admirable and wonderful qualities that I love about you, but there's no need to go overboard," said Lorelai.

Rory sighed. "I'm not being modest, mom. It's true."

Her mother still looked skeptical, but Rory could tell that Luke believed her.

"Right," said Lorelai. "Well, I'm going to go place my vote. The only trouble will be deciding between mocking Ewan McGregor's wig and accent in _Emma_, and drooling over Ciaran Hinds for the twenty seventh time."

"It's a mass viewing," said Rory. "Mocking is always a good bet."

"The wig of horror it is, then!" Lorelai skipped off. She passed Miss Patty and Babette, who had finished placing their votes. "Hey, girls! Which ones did you vote for?"

"Oh, anything's fine by me, honey," said Miss Patty. "They all have gorgeous young men in tight riding breeches. I have to hand it to Taylor, I'm looking forward to this. Especially the costumes."

"I wrote in _Pride and Prejudice_ on the ballot," said Babette. "If I can't have Colin Firth, then I'm not compromising. Though don't tell Morey I said so. G'night, Toots."

Luke sighed. "Well, here we go again."

"I guess so," said Rory.

She wondered if Luke knew where Jess was. Maybe she should ask. Her mother wasn't close enough to overhear--though of course, it wouldn't matter if she were, because there was nothing wrong with her asking Luke where his nephew was, instead of attending a town meeting. Everyone who lived in Stars Hollow should attend the town meetings. They were important. And if someone didn't show up, then she was entirely within her rights to ask what could have taken precedence over something as important as this. Especially if they were related to one of her closest and oldest friends. In fact, it was her responsibility to ask, as a concerned citizen of Stars Hollow.

"Um, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, I was wondering--"

"You were wondering where I was?"

Rory whirled around to see Dean standing behind her.

"Dean! Oh, hi! Dean. Yeah. I mean, yes. I was wondering. Where you were. Because I didn't see you, during the meeting. Though, you know, there was a lot going on, with Bootsy's anti-discrimination rant and Taylor unveiling the model and Mom shouting "Pop goes the weasel!" every five minutes, so it's possible that you were sitting right in the next row, and I just didn't see."

"I was at the other side of the hall," said Dean. "Have you voted?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want me to wait?"

"No," said Rory. "No, it's okay. I like all the movies in their own way. I'm fine with whatever they end up choosing."

"Okay, well, good," said Dean. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

"Oh," said Rory. "Well, I came with my mom, so I should probably walk back with her..."

"That's fine, sweetie," said Lorelai, who had returned after submitting her ballot. "You two lovebirds go and have fun. I'll walk back with Luke and listen to him grouch about the whole thing."

"Ha ha, very funny," said Luke.

"Okay," said Rory. "Well, thanks, mom."

"Don't mention it."

Dean smiled. "I guess we're going home together, then."

"Yeah," said Rory. "Great. Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

"Wow

"Wow." Rory walked into the kitchen and stared, flabbergasted. "_Wow._"

"I know." Lorelai grinned at her. "She's really outdone herself this time."

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" Sookie rushed past them, brandishing a baster. "I have to get to those chickens in exactly three seconds or they're going to be dry! Dry chickens! Not good!"

She opened the oven and began basting the birds inside.

"Sookie," said Rory, moving between the tables. "Just exactly how much food did you make?"

Sookie finished tending to her chickens and bounced up, beaming. "I don't know, hon, but it's gonna be great!"

"This isn't even all of it," said Lorelai. "The first batch has already gone down to Stars Hollow. We've got enough here to withstand a siege. Several sieges, in fact."

Sookie started pointing at all the different dishes.

"Afternoon tea, with scones, clotted cream, petits fours, trifle, sticky toffee pudding, cucumber sandwiches with celery butter, ham sandwiches with parsley butter, gooseberry fool, plum pudding, bread-and-butter pudding, and that's even before we get to the main courses. God, English food just sounds delicious, doesn't it? And it's going to taste even better."

"It sounds positively wonderful," said Michel, who had just walked in. "My arteries are dancing in delight. And _bread and butter_ pudding. I have probably met my daily caloric intake simply by breathing the carbohydrate-laden fumes in this kitchen. Damn the English. Only they would consider it cooking to place great slabs of bread and butter in a dish before covering it with cream and offering it as food to an unsuspecting victim."

"Oh, stop being so French, Michel," said Lorelai.

"Yeah," said Sookie. "Here, taste this!"

She held out a beautiful golden pie decorated with a pattern of pastry oak leaves. Rory's mouth watered just from looking at it, but Michel stared at it in distaste.

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"It's a steak and kidney pie! Traditional English food."

"A what?"

"A steak and kidney pie."

Michel glared at Sookie. "If this is your idea of a joke, then I, like Queen Victoria, am not amused. The kidneys are the body's way of producing urine. And now you wrap these kidneys in a combination of grease and suet and pastry and offer it to me as a treat."

"Come on, Michel, just try it. You'll love it, I swear."

"As tempted as I am, I must regretfully decline," said Michel. "It will ruin my complexion. I can feel my pores clogging as we speak."

"Well suck it up, buster," said Lorelai. "We're going to need you to help move all this food down to Stars Hollow."

"Oh, goody," said Michel. "I can barely contain my excitement. And do not call me 'Buster.'"

The expression on his face changed from disgust to astonishment as he stared at something over Rory's shoulder.

"Oh my," said Michel.

"Oh my god," said Lorelai.

Rory turned around. It was Jackson. He was dressed in full Regency costume, from breeches to waistcoat to ruffled shirt. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he was carrying a crate of zucchini and wearing a scowl that suggested that he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Jackson!" Sookie squealed, almost letting go of the pie.

"Oh my god," said Lorelai.

"You already said that," said Rory.

"I know," said Lorelai. "And I'm going to say it again. Ooooh. My. God."

"Jackson," said Sookie. "What are you wearing?"

Jackson sighed. "You wanted Colin Firth, you'll get Colin Firth, okay?" He turned to the others. "Stop staring at me!"

"Lorelai," said Michel. "I take it all back. I will do whatever you want. It will all be worth it, simply for this moment."

"Well, I'm glad I could make your day," said Jackson. He looked at Sookie. "Well?"

"Oh, sweetie," said Sookie. She burst out laughing. "It's great, it really is."

"It had better be," said Jackson. He tugged at his collar, trying to loosen it. "Do you know how uncomfortable these breeches are?"

"That information was entirely unnecessary," said Michel.

"We should have brought cameras," said Lorelai.

"We always forget." Rory checked her watch. "Oh, I think I should get going."

"Yes, go, go," said Lorelai. "Oh, I made you a costume! You should change before you leave."

"You what?"

"I made you a costume." Lorelai disappeared into a back room and came back holding a large cardboard box. "Look!"

Rory took a peek. A white muslin dress trimmed with blue satin lay inside the box, together with a straw bonnet and a pair of black boots.

"Oh, it's so pretty!" said Sookie, looking over Rory's shoulder.

"Mom, this is amazing," said Rory. "Did you follow Taylor's instructions in the Manifesto?"

"Excuse me," said Lorelai. "I am more than capable of turning out a genuine Jane Austen dress without asking for advice from Taylor."

"You just used this as an excuse to watch all the movies again, didn't you?" said Rory.

"Let's just say that it was an added benefit. A reward for my fabulousness in making you this dress, if you will," said Lorelai. "Now, run along, shoo! I'll see you in a few hours."\

* * *

_She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation, than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance..._

_She followed him with her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee; and then was enraged against herself for being so silly!_--Pride and Prejudice

* * *

Rory looked out over the town square, taking in the sights. A banner announcing the festival fluttered in the breeze, hanging over a series of marquees and tents set up in preparation for the afternoon tea. Taylor was busy handing out leaflets to passersby while setting up a game of lawn croquet.

Everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves. Everyone was participating in the town event.

Well, not quite everyone.

Rory headed over to Luke's. She wondered how he was doing. Knowing him, he was probably sulking while declaring the diner a festival-free zone.

When Rory walked in, however, she was surprised to find that the place was packed. A buffet had been set up along one wall, and everyone was helping themselves.

Luke pushed past her, looking harassed.

"Luke!" Rory grabbed his arm. "What's going on?"

"It's Taylor." Luke shook his fist at the window. Rory could see Taylor on the other side, who was now conducting the string quartet in the gazebo.

"That power-hungry freak of nature just came in this morning and took over my diner. My diner! He's using it as a refreshment stand for his stupid fair!"

"Oh," said Rory. "Sorry, Luke."

"Yeah, well, he's the one who's going to be sorry when I'm through with him," said Luke, looking around the room.

He threw up his hands in despair. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no! You! Get out from under there! And don't touch the cash register!"

Rory watched Luke stomp off towards the counter, and smiled. Some things would never change.

Just then, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Just tell me what the hell you were talking about! Why on earth would Jane Austen have liked Bukowski?"

She turned to see Paris and Jess sitting at one of the tables. Paris was busy pulling stacks of books out of her backpack.

Jess smirked. "Didn't know my opinion meant that much to you."

"Very funny. Ha ha. I can barely breathe for laughing. I want to know, okay?"

"You came all the way out here to Stars Hollow just to ask me this?"

"You want to know what I think? I think you were just making that stuff up. I think it doesn't mean anything."

"If you say so."

Paris spoke through gritted teeth. "Just. Tell me."

"The whole point is that you should figure it out yourself."

"Either tell me or shut up, Cronshaw."

"Nice catch."

Rory walked up to them. "Hey, you guys."

Jess nodded in acknowledgment. "Hey."

Paris turned to see her. "Oh, hi, Rory."

Rory cleared her throat. "So, I guess you decided to come to the festival after all?"

"Well, my dad's out of town on a business trip. That is, he says it's a business trip. I got the standard pity postcard from Dubai this morning. And if I'd stayed at home my mom would have followed me around the house all day talking about how much she hates him. So it was either that, or this."

"I'm glad you came," said Rory. "So, what do you think?"

Paris looked around the diner. "It's amusing enough, in a quaint, _Anne of Green Gables_ kind of way. Though really, the historical inaccuracies are astounding."

She pointed to the sign behind the counter. "No cellphones allowed? Plus, bleached white bread in the sandwiches. Also, I'm pretty sure that cucumbers wouldn't have been in season at this time of year in Regency England."

Jess grinned. "You know, you should tell Luke that. I'm sure he'd _really_ appreciate the advice."

"Maybe I will," said Paris. "He's the one in the plaid shirt and the baseball cap, right?" She walked off in search of Luke.

Rory laughed. "You're cruel."

"Well, he made me help out this morning, so this is just payback," said Jess. He gestured to Rory's costume. "You look nice."

"Oh. Um. Thank you." Rory looked down at the floor, then back up at Jess, feeling her cheeks getting hot. She'd wondered whether he'd noticed. Though maybe he was just saying it to be polite--but no, Jess wouldn't do that.

"My mom made it."

"Huh."

"So," said Rory. She glanced out of the window. "I guess there's no point expecting you to participate in any way?"

"Pretty much," said Jess.

Rory looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. "I'm not surprised. I mean, really, you're just carrying on the Danes family tradition of avoiding all Stars Hollow related celebratory events, so, you should just go ahead and do that. I just thought I should, you know, ask."

"I don't know," he said. He looked over at Paris, who had trapped Luke in a corner and appeared to be interrogating him about the buffet.

He finally turned back to Rory. "At least there's a book sale."

"Yeah," said Rory. She said, quickly, "We could go together. I mean, all three of us. I'm pretty sure Paris will want to come along, too."

Jess smiled. "Okay, sure."

Rory smiled back in relief. She was trying to think of something to say next, when she felt an arm around her shoulder. She looked around. Sure enough, it was Dean.

"Hey."

"Hi," said Rory. She took a closer look at her boyfriend, and noticed that he had also dressed up for the occasion. "I like your outfit."

"Yeah," said Jess. He looked Dean up and down, trying not to laugh. "Wow, man. I don't even know where to start."

Dean glared at him. "How about you just keep your mouth shut?"

Rory placed a warning hand on his arm. The last thing they needed was a fight in Luke's diner.

"Nice costume," said Paris, who had returned after talking to Luke. "You too, Rory. I forgot to say that earlier."

She inspected Dean's waistcoat. "Though again, not exactly authentic. They didn't have plastic in the nineteenth century. The buttons would have been made from horn or wood, and they would have been handmade, not machine-carved."

"The buttons? Really?" Jess raised his eyebrows. "You had all of this to choose from. The gaiters. The cravat. The lace. And yet you went for the buttons."

"Jess," said Rory. "Please."

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands.

"Come on," said Dean, shifting his arm to wrap around Rory's waist. "We should get going."

Rory looked up at him. Of course, he would assume that they were going to spend the day together. And she hadn't even--

She felt a pang of guilt. "Oh, yeah. Maybe."

Rory turned back to the others. "Or maybe we should help out in the diner? I mean, Luke definitely looks like he could use some help."

For a second, she thought that Jess would ask her to stay--but eventually he got up, his hands in his pockets.

"It's fine," he said. "We've got it covered. You should go."

"Oh, well, good. That's good. If you're sure."

Rory turned and left, feeling Dean's arm secure around her waist. She wondered if Jess and Paris would end up going to the book sale without her. She wanted to go--she'd been looking forward to it all week--but she couldn't have let Dean down. He was her boyfriend.

"It looks like you were right," said Dean, breaking in on her thoughts.

"What?" Rory turned to him, confused.

"About Paris and Jess," said Dean, jerking his head back towards Luke's. "I have to admit, Rory, I had a hard time believing you at first, but I guess you're right. There's no explaining attraction."

He stopped walking, waiting for her response. "Right?"

Rory glanced through the glass walls of the diner, where her friends appeared to be deep in conversation once more. Paris was waving a book in Jess's face and gesticulating wildly, while he looked on, amused.

She turned back to find Dean watching her closely.

"Yeah, of course," she said. "I mean, they have a lot more in common than you'd think."

Dean smiled. "So, how does it feel to be playing matchmaker?"

"Great," said Rory, forcing herself to smile back. She was glad that her friends were getting along so well. Neither of them had very many people to talk to, and she liked them both. So she should be happy for them. And she was. Happy.

"It feels great," she repeated. She started walking again. "We should get moving, or we'll miss all the good stuff."

"Okay," said Dean. "So where do you want to go first?"

* * *

_They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the other outward circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in favour of a pleasant party...Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there. Seven miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and every body had a burst of admiration on first arriving; but in the general amount of the day there was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union, which could not be got over.-_-Emma

* * *

"Ladies! Girls! You're standing in the ballroom! You're wondering--will anyone ask you to dance? Will you have to wait all night? Then you see him across the floor! It's Mr. Darcy! He's leading you away! Your feet are flying, your eyes are sparkling, your cheeks are red as roses! Step, two, three, one, two, three, twirl, two, three, keep in time with the music!"

Rory tried to concentrate on the steps as Miss Patty led everyone through the dance. She'd never been very good at dancing, not even in her early attempts to master ballet. At least the steps of this reel were regular, which made them easier to memorize.

"This is a lot harder than it looks on TV," said Dean.

"Yeah--oops! Sorry!" Rory bit her lip. "I think I just stepped on someone's toes. Again."

"Cheer up," said Dean. "At least you're doing better than Kirk."

Rory looked over to see Kirk moving down the line of dancers like an extremely ungainly, solemn flamingo. She choked back a laugh.

"Poor Kirk," said Rory. "Stop me from making comparisons to Mr. Collins. It's not very kind."

"Who?" Dean looked puzzled.

"Oh, nothing," said Rory, turning away in confusion. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter. Just something I remembered, that's all."

"But--"

Dean was interrupted by Miss Patty announcing the end of the dance. "Lovely, everybody! Lovely!"

Rory breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up at Dean. "Do you want to try something easier?"

"That sounds like a good idea," he said. "Where next?"

"How about the tea tent?" said Rory. "I'm pretty sure Sookie and my mom will have brought all the food from the Inn by now."

"Eating," said Dean. "Now that I can handle. Let's go."

* * *

_"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are."_

_"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"_

_"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."_

_"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen."_--Pride and Prejudice

* * *

Rory stepped into the first marquee, and saw that one half was being used to serve afternoon tea, while the other half had been set up as a needlework stand. She headed straight for the food.

"Sookie's a miracle worker," said Dean.

"I know," said Rory. "They should build a shrine to her." She bit into a scone covered with clotted cream and raspberry jam. "Or make a Sookie Memorial Day, where she makes and serves all the food."

They loaded their plates with cakes and sandwiches and walked over to look at the displays of cushions, quilts, and framed cross-stitch pieces that had been contributed to the festival.

"Wow," said Rory. "I never knew there were so many sewing enthusiasts in this town."

She held up a tapestry covered with an elaborate design of peacocks roosting in an orange grove. "It must have taken years to do this."

"Actually, it took me seven weeks and two days." Rory turned to see Kirk standing behind them. "It's the finest piece in my collection. My mother was very pleased with it. I've been waiting for a special occasion to display it to the public."

"Did you do these, too?" Dean pointed to some smaller pieces nearby.

"Oh, those were just practice samplers," said Kirk. "In fact, all of the work I've done so far is merely training for my ultimate masterpiece. My Guernica. My Sistine Chapel."

"That's...great," said Dean, looking doubtful.

"It is great, Kirk," said Rory. "I didn't know this was your hobby."

"I preferred to practice my craft in private before I was ready to present myself as a mature and fully formed artist," said Kirk. "If you're interested in seeing any more of my work, I'd be glad to give you a private screening."

"That would be nice," said Rory. "I'll let you know."

"Well, I'd better go," said Kirk. "I have to report to Taylor every twenty minutes."

"Rory, sweetheart!" Babette had appeared, followed by Morey. "Have you seen my Morey's quilts? Aren't they absolutely gorgeous?"

"He made these?" Rory walked over to the patchwork quilt stand, where an array of beautiful blankets had been draped over several benches. "This is amazing."

"It's just a pastime," said Morey. "But Babette insisted that I bring them."

Rory smiled to herself. She never would have guessed that her closest neighbors had such unsuspected talents.

"Dean!" She turned to see Clara. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Hey," said Dean, stooping down to look his sister in the eye. "Are you having fun?"

"Yeah," she said. "But mom said I should stay with you."

"I'm kind of busy right now," said Dean.

"Please?" Clara tugged on her brother's sleeve. "I want to go see the maypole dance."

Dean sighed.

"It's okay," said Rory. "You should go."

"Are you sure?" Dean looked doubtful.

"Absolutely." Rory smiled at Clara. "I've been hogging your brother all day. You should go have fun."

"Yay!" Clara skipped to the entrance of the tent. "Dean, come _on_."

Dean began to follow her, then turned back to Rory. "Well, if you're sure--"

"I'm sure." Rory patted him reassuringly on the arm. "I'll be fine on my own."

"Well, okay," said Dean. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, definitely."

Rory walked over the grass, scanning the crowd. After a while, she threw off her bonnet. She felt lighter, freer, somehow, without the additional weight.

She quickened her pace, wondering where she should look next. She'd been to the diner already, but Paris and Jess had left. She'd visited the book stall next, but they hadn't been there, either.

Just as she passed Kim's Antiques, she heard a familiar voice. "Psst! Rory!"

Rory looked around. "Lane? Where are you?"

"Over here!"

She finally caught sight of Lane hiding behind a large chestnut wardrobe. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to experience the festival without actually being at the festival."

"That sounds like a challenge."

"It's quite a feat, but I've done it before. And each time, I get a tiny bit closer to almost feeling like I'm actually participating. A minute ago, I think I smelled a cherry pie. And before that, I'm almost sure that I heard some music. And of course, I get to see all the other people strolling by, laughing and talking, which is just wonderful."

"Well, good for you," said Rory, smiling. She noticed for the first time that several pieces of furniture had been moved out of the store and into the street: one of them was Lane's current hiding place.

"Um, Lane? What's going on?"

"Look at the sign," said Lane, pointing. "My mom's taking advantage of the special day to set up a sale of period-appropriate goods."

"Hello, Rory." Rory jumped when she heard Mrs. Kim behind her. "Lane can't go out today."

"Oh, that's okay, Mrs. Kim," said Rory. "I was just stopping by--"

"Lane!" Mrs. Kim pointed at the wardrobe. "I can see you! Get out from behind there!"

"Mama--"

"No excuses! Go upstairs."

"But Mama--"

"No buts. You are not going to the festival. There is dancing, with boys and girls holding hands, which is bad. There is English food, with butter, and beef, and pastry, and cream, and more butter. All bad. Go upstairs."

Lane sighed. "All right, Mama. Can I at least talk to Rory before I go?"

Mrs. Kim considered this, before finally nodding. "Five minutes."

Lane turned to Rory and clasped her hands in mute appeal. "Is it fun?"

"Yeah, it's fun," said Rory. "At least, parts of it are."

"Maybe I'll know what this 'fun' is, of which you speak, one day in the distant future," said Lane.

"Don't worry, you will," said Rory. "Listen, I was wondering if you'd seen--"

"Dean? I only saw him earlier, when he was with you," said Lane. "God, it's so amazing that you have a boyfriend who's not only willing to take you to a Jane Austen festival, but actually dresses up of his own accord. You're so lucky. Now I, on the other hand, will probably never have a boyfriend. Henry's gone forever, and how many other Korean soon-to-be-medical-students do you think I'll meet who are also counselors at Bible camp? None, that's how many. Or maybe there's one out there somewhere, but he's destined for priesthood and a life of celibacy. At least we'll have something in common."

"Lane," said Rory, interrupting her friend's steady stream of conversation, "I was wondering if you'd seen...Paris. Not Dean."

"Paris?" Lane looked confused. "Oh, you mean your aggressive and intimidating friend from Chilton."

"Yes."

"Yeah, I saw her," said Lane. She waved vaguely towards the town square. "She was over there somewhere, with Jess Mariano."

"She was with Jess?"

"Yup," said Lane. "Talk about the oddest of odd couples. Stranger things may have happened, but I'm not sure what."

"Who is Jess?" Mrs. Kim had apparently been listening to their conversation. "I never heard of this Jess before. Is she from school?"

Rory laughed. "Jess is a boy, Mrs. Kim," she said, ignoring the frantic gestures from Lane behind her mother's back. "He's Luke's nephew."

Too late, she realized what she had said. Mrs. Kim drew herself up, swelling with indignation.

"A boy!" She glared at the girls. "No boys. No boys are allowed to come here. Lane, how come you didn't tell me about this boy?"

"I don't even know him, Mama," said Lane. "He's Rory's friend."

"Go upstairs!" Mrs. Kim pointed to the house. "Five minutes are up. Now!"

"I'm going, Mama." Lane sighed and trudged back towards the house. "Bye, Rory."

"Bye, Lane!" Rory waved as she watched her friend disappear into the house.

"Here you are!"

Rory whirled around to see Paris. "Hey," she said. "I was looking all over for you."

"This town is tiny," said Paris. "You can't have been looking that long."

"I was with Dean. We went to the dance at Miss Patty's, and the needlework stand."

"You have my sympathies," said Paris.

"What?"

"You just spent the last few hours experiencing the depressingly restrictive nature of the Austen era. We're talking about a time when a girl's entire world was confined to the dance floor and her embroidery hoop. That is, before she was put out to auction on the marriage market and sold off to the highest bidder."

"Oh," said Rory. She hadn't really considered it in that light before. "Right. I guess."

Paris looked around at the furniture display. "What is this place, anyway?"

She read the sign in front of the store. "Authentic Antique Regency Furniture Sale."

She turned back to Rory. "Well, to begin with, 'Antique Regency' is redundant. And as for 'Authentic,' we'll see about that."

"Erm, Paris," said Rory, "I don't really think that's a good idea." But it was too late--Paris was already talking to Mrs. Kim.

"You break it, you buy it," said Mrs. Kim. "Full price. Otherwise, twenty percent off everything. Special sale for the festival. Best antiques in town."

"Oh, I'm not buying," said Paris. "But I do want to talk to you about the veracity of your advertising claims. Now, I'm pretty sure that inlays and scrollwork of this quality weren't seen until well into the Victorian period. And some of these screws look like they've been mass produced and machine-cut. Do you have certificates of authenticity for these pieces?"

"Why do you need certificates?" said Mrs. Kim. "You are not a paying customer. To you, it does not make any difference whether this chair is from Wal-Mart or a genuine antique piece. You show me the money, I show you the certificate."

"You show me the certificate, I'll bring my dad back here to show you the money," said Paris.

"I only talk to paying customers," said Mrs. Kim. "If your father is here, I talk to him. But only you are here, and you are not paying. You are only touching, poking, prying, and wasting my time. So there is no need to talk, unless you break something. Then you buy."

Rory watched from behind a chest of drawers, and tried not to giggle.

"Looks like she's finally met her match."

"Jess!" She turned to see him leaning against Lane's wardrobe. "Don't let Mrs. Kim see you. You're not allowed here."

"Why?" asked Jess. "Wait a minute. Has she been talking to your mom?"

"Stop it," said Rory. "And no. She just has a strict 'no boys' policy."

"Ah, got it," said Jess. "Good thing I'm used to sneaking around."

"Right," said Rory. She paused, then said, "So, did you and Paris have a good time?"

"So-so."

Rory crossed her arms and suppressed a sigh of frustration. "What does that mean in English? Would it kill you to speak in complete sentences? Do you mean 'so-so' as in, "We went to every stall in the fair and had a great time"? Or 'so-so' as in, "We got trapped doing chores for Luke and Taylor and just managed to escape"?"

Jess laughed and shook his head. "We haven't gone to the book sale, if that's what you want to know," he said. "Not yet, anyway."

"How did you--" Rory stopped, realizing that she'd given herself away.

"It was pretty obvious," said Jess. He looked at her curiously. "Did you really think we'd go without you?"

Rory scuffed the ground with her toe. "Well. Maybe. I thought you might want to get to it before all the good books were gone."

"Oh please." Jess rolled his eyes. "They'll all be fighting over Danielle Steele and John Grisham. We've got time. That is, if Paris doesn't spend the whole day acting out her own version of _The Antiques Roadshow._"

Rory smiled. "That might be a problem."

"So." Jess turned away. "Where's your faithful escort? Did he sprain an ankle while dancing the foxtrot?"

"Jess."

"Just curious."

"He had to go and look after his sister."

"How very chivalrous of him."

Rory hesitated. The truth was, she was relieved that Clara had shown up--she knew Dean would have been bored at the book stall. And she would have felt rushed and guilty, knowing that he was watching the clock the entire time.

Was it wrong of her to think like this? Dean was a great boyfriend--he would do anything for her. And she knew that he would have no problem spending the entire day with her. So why didn't she feel the same way?

She was still trying to think of what to say to Jess, when Paris came up to them.

"Well, I'm not satisfied, but we can't spend all day here," she said.

Jess stopped leaning against the wardrobe and stood up. "Do my ears deceive me, or is Paris Geller actually admitting defeat?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Paris. "I just weighed the potential costs and benefits of continuing the discussion, and decided that it wasn't worth it. Are we going to check out those books, or not?"

Jess nodded. "Ready when you are."

"Great," said Rory. She shook off her worries--she could think about them later. Right now, she was here with her friends, and there were boxes and boxes of books just waiting for them to dive in. "Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

_"Miss Woodhouse," said Frank Churchill, after examining a table behind him, which he could reach as he sat, "have your nephews taken away their alphabets--their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated rather as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again."_--Emma

* * *

Rory, Paris, and Jess were heading to the book stall, when Taylor came bustling up. "Ah, Rory! There you are! Just the person I wanted to see. Now, how would you like to enter the Trivia Competition?"

He pushed a piece of paper into her hands. "All you have to do is fill this out, then hand it in at the clearly marked box in front of the gazebo by three o'clock. I can't give away too much now, but I can tell you that the prize is definitely worth your time!"

Rory scanned the leaflet, and saw that both sides were covered with Jane Austen trivia questions.

"What's this? Nobody told me anything about a competition." Paris looked at the quiz over Rory's shoulder. "I'm taking one."

"I'm afraid that the contest is only open to residents of Stars Hollow," said Taylor.

"What?"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes. I will never comprehend the unwillingness of the average person to read and obey the rules. It's stated very clearly in Section 3D of the Manifesto," said Taylor, pulling the booklet out of his pocket. "The S.H.E.P.C. decided that it was only fair, as the prize is being provided using town funds."

"Fine," said Paris. "But we're going to need one more of these, anyway."

"Why?" asked Jess.

"Because you're filling one out, aren't you?"

"And why would I do that?"

"Why not?" Paris stared him down, her hands on her hips. "Are you afraid you'll lose?"

Jess stared back at her for a few seconds--then one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Not on your life."

"Okay then," said Paris. She snatched a copy of the quiz from Taylor's hands before he could protest, then pulled a pen out of her pocket and held it out to Jess. "Let's see what you've got."

* * *

_"But how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father! There is something so shocking in a child's being taken away from his parents and natural home! I never can comprehend how Mr. Weston could part with him. To give up one's child! I really never could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any body else."_

_"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy," observed Mr. John Knightley coolly. "But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful tempered man, than a man of strong feelings; he takes things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow or other, depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called __**society**__ for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking, and playing whist with his neighbours five times a-week, than upon family affection, or any thing that home affords."_--Emma

* * *

"Okay, you're both done," said Paris, who had been watching over Jess and Rory for the past few minutes. "Let's go submit your entries."

"Geez," said Jess. "We're not in school, so you can drop the hall monitor act anytime."

"Paris, can we hand these in later?" Rory looked over at the book fair, biting her lip. "Jess, I know you said we have time, but I think all the best stuff is going to be gone if we don't get there soon."

"Well, why didn't you say so before?" Paris marched off, calling over her shoulder, "You'd better get a move on!"

"Yes, ma'am," muttered Jess, shaking his head. He got up and dusted himself off. "I swear, all she needs is a bayonet and a pith helmet."

"I think the power of her withering stare is enough," said Rory, as they caught up to Paris at the book stall.

After they'd been browing for a few minutes, Paris looked up. "This is actually a halfway decent

collection." She sounded surprised.

"We're a small town, but we're not Amish," said Rory. "We had our annual book sale last month, and I always find lots of great things that I've never seen before. One year, I found all the out of print editions of Gerald Durrell's old travel series--even _The Bafut Beagles_."

"Really?" asked Jess. "I'll trade you for _Justine_."

"Okay," said Rory. "And just to be clear--we're not getting into a Lawrence vs. Gerald debate. At least, not until the fair is over."

"Fine," said Jess. "But I can't believe you think it's even debatable."

"Well clearly, it's not," said Rory, with a wicked grin. "I'll take _The Corfu Trilogy_ over _The Alexandria Quartet_ any day."

"I outgrew those years ago," said Paris.

"How can you outgrow Gerald Durrell?" Rory was shocked. "I still read _My Family And Other Animals_ whenever I have a cold and it's raining outside."

"Clearly, he's not on the list of Authors That Will Get You Into Harvard," said Jess.

"The earth has a population of over six billion people," said Paris. "So I'm sure that somewhere out there, there is someone who would find your attempts at humor amusing. I, however, am not one of them."

"What have you got, Jess?" Rory peeked at the stack in his arms. She craned her neck to read the first few titles. "_I'm the King of the Castle_, _Road to Wigan Pier_, Saki's _Collected Short Stories_..."

She straightened up again. "That's a pretty depressing list."

He pointed to her selection. "You're picking up the _Collected Plays of Arthur Miller_. You'll probably slit your wrists before I do."

"Okay, maybe." Rory smiled and flipped through the book. "I've always wondered what kind of a relationship he had with his dad."

"The kind requiring a lifetime of therapy," said Paris. "Not to mention a large dose of antidepressants."

Rory nodded. "I'm afraid so." She picked up another volume and held it out to Jess. "How about this one?"

"_The Cranford Chronicles_." He shook his head. "Not a big fan of Gaskell."

"But these are different from her other books," said Rory. "They're really funny."

"Funny? Gaskell?" Jess hesitated, before finally taking the book. "All right, fine. I'll give it a try."

"Hey, Anzia Yezierska!" Paris pulled out a hardcover copy of _Bread Givers_ from under a pile of paperbacks. "I haven't read this one."

"You won't like the ending," said Jess.

"Let me guess," said Paris. "A putatively feminist storyline degenerates until it becomes clear that the protagonist, despite obtaining an education and a job and independence from her family, is incomplete as a person until she finds a man."

"Pretty much. Only her dad gets involved, too. It's a two-for-one deal."

"I'm used to it." Paris tossed the book on top of her pile. "I've yet to find an author who can resist writing a Cinderella story without a Prince Charming. It's not ideal, but I'll take what I can get. I've already gone through the disillusionment of Jo March becoming a hausfrau under subjugation to a stuffy old professor."

"That wasn't Jo," said Rory. "That was just Louisa May Alcott being cruel and torturing her readers. I still can't read past that chapter in _Good Wives_."

"Now that, I haven't read," said Jess. "They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but--"

Rory laughed. "I'm guessing you didn't make it through _Little Women_, either?"

"Let's just say I ran screaming at the first 'Marmee.'"

"It's not that bad."

"Oh yes, it is."

"Fine," said Rory, turning back to the table. "But I'll have you know you're criticizing one of my oldest friends, and I don't take kindly to that."

She scanned the titles in front of her, wondering which ones she should choose next, until something made her look up. When she did, she found herself staring straight into Jess's eyes.

Before she knew what she was doing, she said, "Why don't you pick one for me?"

"What?" For once, Jess looked startled.

"I mean--that is--a book," Rory stammered. Why had she said that? But she couldn't take it back now. "I was just wondering which one to look at next, and it occurred to me that, you know, I love browsing for books by myself, but I know my tastes pretty well because, well, I'm me. And I know me. I think. But you know how sometimes you go to the video store, and you _always_ rent _Dirty Dancing_, because you've watched it a gazillion times, but then one day some random person next to you recommends _The Quiz Show_, and you think they're crazy, because you'd never have chosen it for yourself, but you watch it anyway, and it ends up being one of your favorite movies?"

"I've never watched _Dirty Dancing_, but I get the gist," said Jess.

"Okay, then." Rory nodded. "Well?"

"Okay," said Jess. He looked like he was trying not to smile. "So, are you going to return the favor?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean, I should choose--for you. Okay." Rory wondered why she felt so flustered. This really wasn't a big deal. She picked out books for her mother all the time. "Okay."

"Nothing by Ayn Rand," said Jess. "I'm only reading _The Fountainhead_ under protest."

"And nothing by Hemingway for me."

"Duly noted." Jess picked up his books. "I guess I'd better start looking, then."

"Okay."

Rory started moving between the tables. After a few minutes, she realized that finding a book for Jess was going to be harder than she had imagined. Nothing she saw felt quite right.

She remembered the conversation they'd had about Jane Austen's diaries. No matter what he had said, she was sure that Jess was interested in writing: there was no other reason why he'd have underlined those particular passages. If only she could help him with that--find some way of communicating with him about it without having him clam up on her.

_Bird by Bird_? No. Too obvious. He'd catch on at once.

_I Capture the Castle_? No. It was one of her favorites, but it didn't feel right for Jess. For one thing, she doubted whether he'd agree to read a book by the author of _The 101 Dalmatians_.

_Letters to a Young Poet_. Maybe that would work. Rory picked it up, then saw the book lying under it.

"Wow," she said, speaking out loud in her excitement. "Katherine Paterson wrote a book of essays!"

"What's it called?" Rory started, hearing Paris's voice behind her.

She read out the title. "_The Invisible Child: Reading and Writing Books for Children_. It only came out last year. And look," she said, pointing, "They've got all her other books here, too. Maybe I should buy second copies. My old ones are falling apart."

Jess walked up to them, and Rory waved the book in his face. "Look what I found!" She started skimming through the pages. "I love everything she's written. _Bridge to Terabithia_ still makes me cry."

"It's all right," said Paris. "But _Jacob Have I Loved_ is the best thing she's ever written."

"I still prefer _Terabithia_," said Rory. "It's got magic in it. But _Jacob_ is definitely up there. Paterson's on record as saying that most people don't get it, though."

"What's there to get?" Paris crossed her arms. "It's a painfully accurate portrayal of adolescent angst, with a narrator who doesn't actually make me want to strangle her. That's miraculous in and of itself."

"Well," said Rory, "She said that in her mind, the Bradshaws loved both their children equally, and that Caroline is a great person, too--but most people don't get that because the book is from Sarah Louise's point of view."

"That's sentimental nonsense," said Paris. "Of course they'd love the beautiful, talented, special daughter more. And who can blame them? It's obvious even by the logic of natural selection."

She frowned. "I didn't know Paterson was feeble-minded enough to let idealism affect her writing. Great. Another illusion shattered. Not that I had many of those left. Besides, even _Jacob Have I Loved_ suffers from the inevitable Prince Charming syndrome. Would it have killed Paterson to actually let Sarah Louise get that M.D. instead of shoving her in the backwoods and marrying her off?"

"Oh don't, Paris," said Rory. "You're ruining one of my precious childhood memories."

She furrowed her brow, thinking. "And besides...I don't know. I think Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw did love Sarah Louise as much as Caroline. Parents don't love their kids because of logic. That's what makes mothers and fathers special, right? They love their children just because. They don't need a reason."

Rory suddenly noticed that Jess had been silent for the past few minutes--then she realized what she had just said. She could have kicked herself.

"Um, Jess?" She spoke softly. "Have you read--"

He broke in before she could finish. "They're okay," he said, running his fingers over the spines of Paterson's books, before finally picking one up. "Haven't read them all."

Rory looked at the book in his hand. It was _The Great Gilly Hopkins_.

"Oh." She didn't know what to say.

"Don't read too much into it," said Jess. He looked irritated. "It's short. And it isn't as sappy as the other ones, that's all."

He tossed the book onto the table and walked away before Rory could say anything. She wondered if she should go after him, but decided that he probably wanted to be left alone.

Almost unconsciously she picked up the book and began thumbing through the pages, scanning the familiar lines that she'd first read years ago.

_Gilly was crying now. She couldn't help herself. "Trotter, it's all wrong. Nothing turned out the way it's supposed to."_

_"How you mean supposed to? Life ain't supposed to be nothing, 'cept maybe tough."_

_"But I always thought that when my mother came..."_

_"My sweet baby, ain't no one ever told you yet? I reckon I thought you had that all figured out."_

_"What?"_

_"That all that stuff about happy endings is lies. The only ending in this world is death. Now that might or might not be happy, but either way, you ain't ready to die, are you?"_

"Hey, Rory." She came out of her reverie to see Luke standing next to her. "What's that you're reading?"

"This?" Rory slammed the book shut. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a book I liked when I was little."

"Oh, right." Luke was staring at the crowd, and his voice sounded as if his mind was elsewhere. Rory followed his line of sight, and realized that he was watching Jess.

After a while, he turned back to Rory. "Is he, um...do you think he--"

"He's okay. He was having a good time, before," she said. "At least, I think so."

"That's good," said Luke. He still looked uneasy. "He doesn't exactly talk to me, you know. I thought maybe, since he likes reading so much, if I talked to him here... but I don't even know what I would say."

His voice trailed off, and he sighed.

Rory wondered if she should say something. A wild impulse came over her to give Luke _The Great Gilly Hopkins_. Maybe it would help.

But no--she had no right to interfere. It wasn't her secret to tell.

"Oh God," said Luke, snapping to attention. "There's Taylor. I'm going to escape while I can. Listen, Rory, I'll see you later, all right?"

"Okay." Rory looked back at Jess, and saw that he and Paris were talking again. She put down the book, and walked over to join them.

Later in the afternoon, Rory and Jess watched as Paris demolished the competition in lawn croquet.

She knocked another ball expertly through the arches, knocking Kirk out of contention. "Ha! I win!"

Kirk threw down his mallet in frustration. "This is so unfair," he said.

"Don't worry, Kirk," said Rory. "At least you have the annual Dance Marathon."

"Just when I think this town can't get any weirder," said Jess.

At that moment, an unmistakable voice rang out across the town square.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Your attention, please! I would like you all to gather around the gazebo, as the Entertainment Committee has some very important announcements to make!"

"I've got to go," said Kirk. "I'm the Vice Chair of the Committee. Well, one of the Vice Chairs." He bounded off across the grass.

"A megaphone," said Paris, walking up to them. "Another impossibility for the time period."

"Not for Taylor," said Rory. "He would have had a megaphone in any era. I don't know how, but he would have one. Even if he had to use a time machine to travel to the twentieth century and snatch it from Fenway Stadium, he would have one. It's part of the Taylor Doose Survival Kit, together with his gavel and cardigan sweater."

They walked up to the gazebo, and joined the crowd that had already formed around it. Rory could see Lorelai and Sookie in the distance. Luke was next to them, though he didn't look too happy about it--her mother had probably dragged him out here.

Taylor was standing behind a lectern that had been set up at the top of the steps.

He cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, fellow citizens of Stars Hollow, I trust that you have all had a pleasant and wholesome day of enjoyment. Now, without further ado, the Entertainment Committee would like to announce the movie to be shown tonight. Kirk, if you would be so good as to hand me the results of the vote."

Kirk stepped up to Taylor and whispered in his ear.

"What?" Taylor held his hand over the microphone and whispered back, shaking his head. Kirk pointed to a piece of paper in his hand, nodding emphatically.

"What's going on, Taylor?" asked Babette.

Lorelai hopped up and down on her toes. "Oooh! Has the revolution begun? It is time for us to storm the barricades?"

"Yeah, stop keeping us in the dark!" yelled Bootsy. "We demand to know!"

Taylor was now holding a frenzied discussion with Kirk, and shaking his fist in Kirk's face.

"I'm afraid those are the results," said Kirk.

"But that's impossible!" said Taylor.

"What's impossible?" Lorelai called out from the back of the crowd. "Is it a three-way tie? Did _Babe_ win?"

"_Babe_ isn't a Jane Austen adaptation, Lorelai, as you well know," said Taylor. He stepped back to the microphone and glared at the audience. "No, the matter in question is far more serious than that. I am afraid that there has been an alarmingly high rate of voter misconduct in this event."

Lorelai gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. "No! This might just be the end of civilization as we know it!"

"This is no laughing matter, young lady," said Taylor. "We have rules for a reason. And the moment that people begin to disobey those rules, we cease to act like human beings and become no better than animals!"

"No one cares, Taylor!" shouted Luke. "Just tell us the results of the stupid vote!"

"Oh, all right," said Taylor. "It appears that an overwhelming number of people voted for the BBC adaptation of _Pride and Prejudice_ by writing in their own entries on the ballot, even though I made it abundantly clear at the town meeting that this movie would not be available due to time considerations."

"Ha!" Babette yelled in triumph. "I knew it!"

"You can't stop the beat, Taylor," said Miss Patty.

"People, please!" Taylor held up his hand to still the buzzing in the crowd. "Now, as much as it pains me to reward such dissident behavior, I find myself reluctantly compelled to air the movie that garnered the most votes."

"Democracy lives!" Lorelai pumped her fist in the air. "Take that, Taylorville!"

Babette and Miss Patty burst into cheers, together with several other people in the crowd. Luke groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Believe me, ladies," said Taylor, "When you are sitting in front of the screen at 2 A.M. tomorrow morning instead of being safe and sound in bed, you will wish that you had listened to my advice. Now, people, the movie is over six hours long, as many of you know. So make sure that you go to the bathroom _before_ the screening begins. Those of you who wish to take a break in the middle of the movie should exit through the outer aisles, so as not to obstruct the view of others in the audience."

"Now," he said, placing a large wooden box on the podium, "Let us move on to more pleasant matters. It is time to announce the winner of the Jane Austen Trivia Contest!"

The crowd began to applaud politely. Taylor beamed, and inclined the box so that everyone could see its contents.

"The first prize is this beautiful writing set, containing a leather-bound notebook with lovely thick cream-colored paper, and a fountain pen worthy of Hemingway. The Entertainment Committee would like to thank the Stars Hollow Library for being generous enough to donate this item. Now, Kirk, the results, if you please."

Kirk handed a sealed envelope to Taylor, who ripped it open and read the contents.

Rory held her breath. She had a feeling that she knew what was coming, and she didn't want to think about what would happen next.

She could feel Jess on her left and Paris on her right, but she couldn't look at them right now--she forced herself to stare straight ahead, focusing only on Taylor and the piece of paper in his hands.

"The winner is..." said Taylor.

Rory closed her eyes.

"Rory Gilmore!"

Rory's eyes flew open in astonishment. She turned to Jess, trying to catch his eye, but he looked away.

"Rory," said Taylor. "Would you please come up here and claim your prize."

"Hey." She felt Paris nudge her. "You're supposed to go up."

"Oh. Right." Rory came to herself and realized that everyone was clapping and cheering. She could see her mother and Luke waving to her. Sookie was jumping up and down in delight.

The next few minutes were a blur. Rory walked up the gazebo steps, shook Taylor's hand, and felt him place the box into her arms. A couple of camera flashes went off, and she tried to remember to smile at the crowd before walking back down.

"Congratulations, hon!" Lorelai hugged her as she came down the steps. "Of course, everyone knew you were going to win, but it's still great to have further proof of your awesomeness."

"Nice job, Rory," said Luke. "Listen, I have to go--the diner's probably a wreck by now, and I'll have to clean up the mess. Enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Congratulations." Dean had come up, too--she hadn't noticed him in the crowd, but he must have been there. He gave her a quick kiss. "Not really a fair fight, though. They should have given you a handicap, or something."

Rory managed a weak smile. "Yeah. I guess."

"Well, I finally managed to escape," said Lane, who had also appeared out of nowhere. "My mom sold an entire bedroom set. I knew it would take her hours to negotiate the discounts and tax details, so I slipped out. And you know what I learned? The movies are absolutely useless when it comes to Austen trivia. Not one single question about Alan Rickman. Not one. What was up with that?"

"Let's go and celebrate," said Lorelai. "Though we could gloat better if we had a huge, shiny trophy. With a figurine on top! We should put that in the suggestion box for next year."

"Come on, you guys," said Sookie. "I have an enormous three-tiered cake that's just begging to be eaten, and this is the perfect excuse."

Rory opened her mouth to protest. "But I have to--"

"Whatever it is, it can wait," said Lorelai, linking her arm through Rory's. "It's gloating time!"


	8. Chapter 8

_Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred, during their visit, as they returned except what had particularly interested them both. The looks and behaviour of every body they had seen were discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit, of everything but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly gratified by her niece's beginning the subject._--Pride and Prejudice

* * *

When Rory finally managed to sneak away, she changed into her regular clothes and made straight for the diner. She found Paris sitting at the counter, eating an ice cream sundae and talking to Luke.

"This place is a death trap," said Paris. "The food is great, but I'm not allowed to eat anything here."

"And yet you're doing a remarkably thorough job of cleaning out my entire inventory," said Luke.

"I said the food was good, didn't I?"

"Luke's is the best," said Rory, walking in and sitting next to Paris.

"Hey, Rory," said Luke. "I thought you'd still be at the victory party. Your mom looked pretty jazzed."

"It's just a stupid trivia competition." Rory stared down at the surface of the counter.

"It was ridiculously easy, too," said Paris. "If I hadn't been unfairly disqualified, I'd have crushed you. You should talk to Taylor about changing the rules, and set the bar higher next year."

"Oh great," said Luke. "Taylor's met a kindred spirit."

"I'm just saying," said Paris. "There's no point in instituting a competition if all qualified applicants aren't allowed to participate."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Rory.

She noticed that the coffee rings left on the Formica over the years had formed a pattern of intersecting circles. She traced their outline with her fingertip, moving around and around the pale brown stains.

"Rory?" She looked up when she heard Luke's voice.

"Yeah?"

Luke stared at her for a few moments. "Er...do you...that is, do you..."

"Yes?"

He looked away and cleared his throat. "Do you want an ice cream sundae?"

Rory smiled. "Yes, please. That would be great."

"Coming right up." Luke walked back into the kitchen.

Rory turned back to Paris. "So...did you have a good time today?"

"It was acceptable," said Paris. She fished a maraschino cherry out of her sundae. "The book stall was fun. And so was the croquet. I liked the food. But I just know I'm going to regret it tomorrow."

"So, all in all, a pretty good day."

"I guess." Paris twirled the cherry stem in her fingers, then dropped it back into the glass. "I found a topic for my paper."

"Oh," said Rory. "Wow--Paris, that's great! What is it?"

"Well--" Paris stirred the melted ice cream with her spoon. "I'm going back to what Mr. Medina said about Charlotte Brontë, and doing a comparison between the two writers. I mean, on the one hand you've got a self-confessed proto-feminist who declares her intention of creating more equitable relationships between her male and female protagonists, and yet, in my opinion, fails miserably. And on the other, you've got Austen, who's got no scruples about treating match-making as the business of the day, and yet still manages to depict relationships that make you believe in the possibility of an equal marriage."

"That sounds amazing." Rory was impressed. Paris could drive her crazy sometimes--okay, almost all of the time--but there was no denying that she was smart. Really, really smart.

"Yeah, well." Paris continued to stare down at the remains of her sundae. "I don't usually discuss my assignments with anybody else, you know. For all I know, I could be making a huge mistake. Hearing your opinions could blunt my judgment. Or make me lose my focus. Or--"

"Paris, it's all right." Rory smiled. "I mean, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but...I don't think it'll affect your work. Not badly, anyway."

"Well, okay. If you say so." Paris finally turned to look Rory in the face. "What about you?"

"Me?" Rory opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Yeah, I have an idea. Well, sort of."

"And?" Paris tapped her spoon against the rim of the glass. "What is it?"

"Um..." Rory stared down at her hands. "I haven't really thought it through, yet."

"If you don't want to tell me, then fine." Paris stood up. "I knew I shouldn't have let myself get fooled by your 'let's be friends' act. I apologize for being so naive."

"Paris, that's not it!" Rory took a deep breath. "I swear, I _promise_ that I'll tell you in school, okay? I just...I need to think it through first. I need to get it straightened out in my head."

"Really?" Paris looked at her suspiciously.

"Cross my heart."

"All right," said Paris. "But you're on probation." She slung her backpack on her shoulder. "I have to go."

"Already?" Rory looked at her watch. "It's only seven-thirty."

"Exactly," said Paris. "Every time I come to your crazy town, I spend more and more time here. No wonder I never understood this 'friends' thing--it's a potentially catastrophic distraction from my goals. I need to get back to the real world and finish all the work I have left to do."

"Okay," said Rory. "I guess I'll see you in school."

"Yeah," said Paris.

She paused on her way out, and turned back to Rory. "He was here, you know. But he left a while ago."

"What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb," said Paris. "It doesn't suit you. I don't know where he went, but I'm guessing it wasn't to the local square dance. Okay?"

"Okay." Rory smiled. "Thanks, Paris."

"Don't mention it. I'll see you in school." Paris turned and left, swinging the door shut behind her.

"Here you go!" Luke came back from the kitchen, holding an enormous dish piled high with ice cream. "One hot fudge sundae with all your favorite toppings!"

"Um, Luke?" Rory hopped off her stool. "I'm really sorry, but I have to go."

"What?" Luke stared at her in dismay. "What am I going to do with all this ice cream?"

"Why don't you eat it?"

Luke glared at her. "Unlike your mother, I want to live past forty-five."

Rory grinned. "Oh yeah, I forgot. I'm really, really sorry, Luke. I'll pay you for the sundae. But right now, I have to go."

"Nah, it's okay," said Luke. He smiled. "Just go do whatever it is you have to do."

* * *

_"My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?"_

_"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."_

_"But I was embarrassed."_

_"And so was I."_

_"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."_

_"A man who had felt less, might."_

_"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it!"_--Pride and Prejudice

* * *

Rory knew where Jess would be. And sure enough, when she got to the bridge he was there, staring into the water.

"Hey."

He didn't look up. "Hey."

"So..." Rory hadn't planned what to say next, but the words just came out of her mouth. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

All of a sudden, Rory was furious. She had no idea why--Jess hadn't done anything wrong, and he certainly hadn't done anything to her. All she knew was that she was angry at him--angrier than when his antics had gotten Luke attacked at the town meeting, or when he'd completely shut down in front of her mother.

"You know what!" She walked up to him, dropping her bag on the bridge. "Your quiz sheet! Oh, wait, did you make it disappear? Was that another of your magic tricks? Did you change it into a white rabbit? Or are you going to pull it out of my hat? Which would be hard, seeing as I'm not wearing a hat, but maybe you'd like to give it a try!"

"What makes you so sure I didn't hand it in?"

"Because!" Rory knew that her voice was getting louder and louder, but she couldn't help it. "I saw the questions! I know you, Jess, you could have answered them in your sleep. And I watched you filling it out. So did Paris. So where is it?"

"Rory." Jess finally turned to look at her. "What exactly is it that you want from me?"

"What--" Rory stopped in mid-sentence when she saw the expression on his face. She took a deep breath.

"I don't...I just don't...I don't know." Her voice faltered. She wanted to ask him why he kept doing this, why he pretended that he was less than he was--why he couldn't always be the way he was around her, or even Paris. But the words wouldn't come.

She sat down next to him, hugging her knees to her chest.

Jess remained silent for a few seconds. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper.

"Here," he said, handing it to Rory. She took it, and read it through.

"Perfect score," she said.

"Look, don't make a whole big thing out of it, okay?" Jess stuck his hands back in his pockets. "This is your town. Everyone was expecting you to win. It just wasn't worth it. Besides, I didn't feel like being interrogated by Taylor about how I cheated."

"Taylor wouldn't--" Rory stopped, then smiled slightly. "Okay, maybe he would."

"Oh geez, ya think?" Jess laughed, and Rory found herself laughing with him.

She didn't know what to say next--but the horrible tightness in her chest had eased a little. She unbent her legs, dangling them over the side of the bridge.

For a few minutes they just sat side by side, staring at their reflections in the lake. Then Rory said, "I can't believe all this started because of my stupid paper."

Jess glanced at her. "Have you found a topic yet?"

Rory thought for a second. Something had held her back from telling Paris, before. She had an idea--but it was still fragile, still vague. She'd been afraid that if she said it out loud, or looked at it too directly, it would disappear. But she thought she could tell Jess.

Finally, she nodded. "Yeah, I think I have something."

"Well?"

"It's nothing definite, but--" She swung her legs to and fro, looking straight ahead. "I've been thinking about how conversation's such a big part of Austen's books--and yet some of the most important communication takes place indirectly, through writing."

She looked at Jess, who nodded. "You mean like Wentworth writing to Anne."

"Yeah. Or, well, clearly Darcy's letter in _Pride and Prejudice_ is one of the most famous examples there is. But it isn't just letters, it's literature, too. Like Marianne and Willoughby reading poetry to each other."

"Or the play in _Mansfield Park_."

"Exactly," said Rory, warming to the subject. "And they're all double games, right? It's important that the play is _Lovers' Vows_, and all the characters are acting out their own wishes and fears..."

"And issues."

"Yes, definitely." Rory smiled. "Many, many issues. And then Henry reads Shakespeare to Fanny and that almost wins her over, because it makes her think of him as a different person."

"But Marianne thinks Willoughby is worse than he is, because his fiancëe writes that letter--"

"And makes him sign it," finished Rory. "And then there are actual word puzzles, too, hidden in her books."

"Like Frank trying to con Jane and Emma."

"Yes, and there's the whole theme of riddles and word games running through _Emma_--it's like a detective story, almost. And it's like talking to people, writing to people, using language--that's a detective story too, in itself. And it's there in all her novels." Rory paused to catch her breath. "I don't have a title yet, but this one feels right. It's what I want to write about."

"Sounds like it'll work," said Jess.

"Yeah."

They looked at each other for a few seconds, neither one saying anything.

Then Jess turned and reached for something next to him on the bridge. "Here." He held it out to Rory. "I got this earlier."

"Books," she said. "I'm shocked."

"They're the ones I chose," he said. "For you. You know, like you said."

"Oh. _Oh._ Right." She reached out and took them. "_The Bone People_, and _What Do __You__ Care What Other People Think?_"

She couldn't help smiling. "Nice title."

"I figured you already had _Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!_," said Jess.

"Yeah, I do," said Rory. "But I don't have either of these. Any comments on _The Bone People_?"

"It's like nothing you've ever read," he said. "But if you like _The God Of Small Things_, I think you'll like this, too. We can talk about it after you're done."

"Okay." Rory reached into her bag. "I've got something for you, too. I came here to give it to you, but then I got sidetracked...anyway."

She held out a book. Jess took it.

"It's blank," he said. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"No!" Rory tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. She knew he was doing this on purpose. "This isn't the book I picked for you. It's the notebook I won. You know, for the trivia competition."

"No way," he said, handing it back.

"It's okay," said Rory. "I'm not giving it to you because I want to share the prize. Well, that's partly it, that's why I'm keeping the fountain pen--I don't think you're a fountain pen kind of person anyway, are you?"

Jess shook his head.

"Okay, good," said Rory. "But anyway, mostly I'm giving it to you as a gift. Because I had a really hard time deciding what book to get for you. I chose something, in the end, but you might not like it. Everything seemed wrong--this one wasn't good enough, you'd probably already read that one, I wasn't sure whether the next one was your kind of thing, it was driving me crazy. But with this--you can write anything in it you want."

"Rory, if you're still going on about that writing thing, I told you--"

"I'm not implying anything," said Rory. "You can take it however you want. It's just a gift. But you know, if you do write in it, you should remember that it's okay to have happy endings. I told you before, life doesn't always suck. Even _The Great Gilly Hopkins_ had some hope at the end."

She held her breath, waiting for Jess to say something.

Finally, he reached out and took the book back. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

"Oh, good." She smiled. "I'm glad."

Jess looked at his watch. "The movie's probably starting right about now. You should get going."

"Oh, yeah." Rory started to stand up, then sat back down again. "Actually, no."

"What?"

"I've seen the movie more than ten times. I don't have to watch it again."

She could imagine what everyone in town would be doing right now. Taylor would be setting up the projector with Kirk, fussing about how to arrange the screen. Her mother would probably be dragging Luke out to the seats. Sookie and Jackson would be bringing food out to everyone. Miss Patty and Babette would be giggling in anticipation.

And Dean would be there. Everyone would be expecting her.

But she didn't want to go.

"I'd rather stay here," she said.

"Fine by me," said Jess. "This isn't to make up for forcing me to read _The Fountainhead_, is it?"

"What?"

"You said if I tried it again and still hated it, you'd make it up to me. Well, guess what. I still hate it."

Rory burst out laughing. "No, this isn't to make up for that. I want to be here."

She pulled three more books out of her bag. "Now _these_ are the books I chose for you at the fair."

"_A Tree Grows In Brooklyn._" Jess looked at her. "Are you trying to go for the New York angle?"

"Well, yes," Rory admitted. "Have you read it?"

"Yeah," he said. "But I can always use another copy."

"Exactly," said Rory. "Now the other two."

Jess peered at the titles. "Poetry? I told you I can't get into that stuff."

"Excuse me," said Rory. "You've read _Howl_ over forty times."

"That's different."

"Why?" she retorted. "Because you think it's edgy and dangerous? Well, so is this. Just because it doesn't have any swear words in it doesn't mean it's fluff."

"You're seriously comparing Hughes and Plath to Ginsberg."

"Yes," said Rory. "And if you read just a little of Plath's work, you'd see that she's just as angry as Ginsberg--only in a different way. And for different reasons. Of course, she's not angry all the time. Anyway, they were selling _Birthday Letters_ and _Ariel_ together, as a set. Ha, see, I knew we were right when we told Paris you had to have both. I'm going to tell her in school next week."

She looked back at Jess. "You should give it a chance."

"Okay, okay," he said. He checked his watch again. "You've got ten minutes to sell me on Plath."

"Great, I like a challenge," said Rory. She opened the book, flipping through the pages until she found the poem she wanted.

She looked back up to see Jess watching her expectantly.

"Okay," she said. "Here we go."

THE END


End file.
